Love, Thorns, and Fire
by Ellenka
Summary: dead & archived
1. The Sunset

**Disclaimer: **The characters and settings belong to Suzanne Collins, I'm just borrowing them for some not-canon-compliant fun. Opening quote from a the "The World Is Not Enough" movie soudtrack.

**A/N:** This is a very AU scenario that explores the "What if Gale and Katniss got together before the Games and then went there together?" permutation of events. The first chapter takes place a year before THG. The M-rating kicks in towards the end of the next chapter.

Enjoy :)

* * *

><p><strong>Love, Thorns and Fire<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>I.<br>**

**The Sunset**

_People like us know how to survive,_

_there's no point in living if you can't feel alive_

* * *

><p>The 73rd Reaping is over and the odds have been in our favor. All numerous slips bearing the names Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne eluded the sparkling pink claws of Effie Trinket and remained in their respective glassy confines. I let a out a breath of guilty relief. The insult of being annually subjected to the cruel game of fate never stops rankling, but escaping the guarantee of injury always brings a sense of elation.<p>

_The odds have been in our favor_.

Our gazes meet again and even from halfway across the town square, I discern the pure relief that replaced the mix of rage and anxiety in Gale's eyes. The threat of being shipped off to the Capitol as ritual sacrifices just dispersed above our heads like a cloud of coal dust in the wind. We've been granted another year of safety, another year of being able to provide for our families. Dealing with the routine Panem oppression until the scattered particles of dread coalesce again suddenly seems easy and District Twelve appears almost welcoming. Even if the ashen Seam and the rigid Merchant Quarter leave a lot to be desired, there's hardly anything wrong with life as soon as we make our furtive way under the fence and disappear into the woods beyond.

We can still go together and I mirror Gale's slight smile without hesitation.

* * *

><p>After disentangling ourselves from the crowd of our fellow lucky survivors, we rejoin our families and head to the Hawthornes' house where we decided to celebrate if our wish for good fortune came true. My heart clenches a little when I realize that Prim will be eligible for the Reaping next year, but the ecstatic smile she wears <em>now<em> soon alleviates my worries.

Gale and I brought a good haul from the forest and Hob this morning, enough to last for a few days, even after the little festive meal our mothers prepared for this occasion. Now we are sharing a low chipped cabinet Gale had dragged to the table to compensate for the lack of chairs, sitting as close as if we were on our rock in the woods and lightly bumping into each other with every movement. Surrounded by our families, gathered together and cared for to the best of our abilities, we allow ourselves to savor the rare and precious carefree moment. Between the dictatorship of the Capitol and the tragic absence of our fathers, this is as close as we can possibly get to true happiness, and we enjoy it to the fullest.

* * *

><p>Much later, Gale accompanies us the short distance home, but stops me with a light touch on the arm before I follow mother and Prim into the house.<p>

"What about a little evening walk, Catnip?" he asks, his voice unusually soft.

My eyebrows scrunch in surprise, because we hardly ever do things merely for enjoyment, but the idea seems appealing. The air, unusually clean of coal-dust by courtesy of a brief afternoon storm and replete with scents of midsummer wafting from the forest, is tempting me to linger outside. And after hours in the merry company of our families, I already find myself craving the usual comfortable silence I can share only with Gale.

"Okay." I glance down at my shoes, their low heels already causing me discomfort. "Just let me change out of this."

He chuckles lightly when I reappear wearing my hunting boots and close the door after reassuring Prim I won't be very long. I would have replaced my dress too, but the sun is already setting and I didn't want to waste time. It's not that uncomfortable after all.

"Where to? I guess the fence will be on and I promised Prim that I'll be back soon anyway," I say as we fall into step side by side, easily finding our usual rhythm.

Sticking his hands deep into his pockets, Gale shrugs noncommittally and lifts his gaze to the sky littered by harmless scraps of the spent stormclouds. The sunset paints their undersides bright orange.

_The view from our place would be spectacular now…_

Then a sudden idea strikes me.

"Hey, what about climbing up there?" I say, nudging Gale with my elbow and pointing to the black artificial mountain protruding above the tallest trees just beyond a bend in the road, close to the mines. "Maybe we could see our place from that high above."

Gale raises his eyebrows, an odd look of surprise in his eyes. "Yeah, maybe we could."

"If you know how to get there," I add.

"I know how to get anywhere, Catnip," he quips, regaining his composure enough to give me his trusty smile. Then he offers me his hand with an extravagant gesture and after a moment of hesitation, I decide to accept it.

Gale leads the way, scanning the dense bushes on one side of the road. "Now where was the shortcut..." he mutters under his breath.

Soon he steers me away from the road and starts down an overgrown, unfamiliar path, still clasping my hand. It seems unnecessary - _we __are __both __perfectly __capable __of __walking __on __our __own, __so __why __would __we __bother __to __hold __hands?_ - but also strangely right. Gale's firm, warm grip reminds me that we are still together, alive and free to assume that nothing would ever separate us… at least for another year. I prefer things that way, so I make no attempt to disentangle my fingers from his and enjoy the pleasant tingling sensation spreading up my arm.

The path quickly leads us to the tall mound of rubble and slag, surprisingly less treacherous to climb than I anticipated at a first glance. The water from the rain sank right through the crevices and the surface already dried in the warm air.

_Good, we'll be able to sit down._

The flat top offers plenty of room, but we still settle just close enough to touch, as if our need for proximity had nothing to do with the size of the space we are sharing.

_Probably just a habit formed by years of sitting together on our narrow rock, _I think to myself as Gale nudges me and points it out. It's not hard to imagine that we are there.

From this high up, I see neither the poverty of the Seam houses nor the patrolling Peacekeepers and a trick of light reduces the electrified fence to nothing but a faint shadow that mars the eaves of our magnificent forest. The fiery sunset glowing from behind our backs lends the whole scene almost picturesque quality, fleetingly transforming even our bleak district into a place worth living in.

_Better stay here, where we'd already learned to fend for ourselves, than be shipped away… but…_

"It still feels wrong to celebrate it," I mutter after a while. I'd rather take my words back for fear of destroying the peaceful moment by inciting Gale to another anti-Capitol rant, but he just sighs in understanding, staring at the far green horizon.

"It's like some screwed-up birthday," he nods. "We can win one more year we shouldn't have needed to worry about in the first place."

"Yeah," I agree. "But I'm glad we both made it."

Gale nods, lightly draping his arm around my shoulders and I allow him to draw me closer. The fear of losing him grew steadily from one Reaping day to another, comparable only with the relief that always came after we'd evaded the fashionably-clawed hand of fate. Now, the need to _feel_ that Gale is still here beside me overpowers my usual reservations.

_What would I do without him?_

The answer is obvious, but extremely unappealing.

"What would I do without you, Catnip?" Gale mutters, echoing my unspoken rhetorical question and tightening his hold when I don't attempt to pull away.

"Everything we do now," I say aloud, answering the question for both of us. "But it wouldn't be the same, huh?" I add to soften the edge.

"No," he agrees, turning his head to meet my eyes. The unguarded emotion in his cloudy gaze is so intense I'm tempted to hide my face in his shoulder.

"Nothing would be the same without you, Catnip. You mean too much for me. We are-"

"We are best friends, aren't we?" I cut across him in a slightly strained voice, before he says something I'm too afraid to hear.

Gale closes his eyes for a moment and nods. "Sure, we are."

_Could we possibly be anything else?_

The idea settles in my mind with dangerous ease… too dangerous. I've been hell-bent on chasing it away every time it dared to come anywhere near, but...

_Would it be worth a shot, even in this world? Or should we rather keep our distance for fear of what the next year brings?_

Overcome by sudden uncertainty, I duck from under his arm, awkwardly twisting my hands in my lap.

Gale rises to his feet with a slightly exasperated sigh and offers me his hand. Hesitantly, I take it and let him pull me up beside him.

_Let him push our luck._

"Maybe we could be even better friends, if you wanted to," he mutters, caressing my cheek. Breath hitches in my throat and I shiver slightly at the thrilling contact.

Pretending not to understand would be futile, but my own involuntary reaction alarms me and I slip my hand out of his with a frown. "You think it would be a good idea?"

"I do. But if you don't…" Gale takes in my bristled armor and retreats half a step back. "… I guess I should stop making you uncomfortable."

"Gale, I…" _I have absolutely no idea what to say_.

"Just enjoy the view," he mutters wistfully, staring over my head into the sunset. He gives me a slight, indulgent smile, but deep sadness shines through in his gaze, compelling me to chase it away. More-than-best-friends or not, I don't want to see him miserable. Tentatively, I reach up and brush a dark strand of hair from his eyes.

"I _am_ enjoying the view," I say without thinking, looking straight at his face. A fraction of a second later, as the corners of Gale's mouth curl upward, I belatedly grasp the implication behind my own words and desperately wish I could swallow the foolish confession back. Especially after the uncomfortable realization that it happens to be perfectly true; and the following rush of strange heat into my cheeks.

I liked seeing him ever since I can remember, but recognizing the real reason why unsettled me a little. Until now, I'd considered our companionship as another aspect of hunting, of trading, of holding onto sanity, of _survival_. Admittedly, the most pleasant, but I was so used to him I took everything about him for granted and never acknowledged any need to push boundaries.

Here and now, with the lack of immediate worries and familiar distractions in the form of danger or potential dinner, I finally let myself truly _see_ him, and the effect is slightly overwhelming. I can't help but think that it would be a waste of time to look at the last embers of sunset smoldering from the opposite direction, when I can look at the chiseled contours of Gale's face. Especially now that my words brightened them with mesmerizing inner light, even more vivid than the flickering orange shadows of the dying sun.

Gale smiles wider, extending his hand to cup my cheek and now I lean into his touch without hesitation. Against the backdrop of the cloudy sky, darkened gray like his eyes but infinitely less beautiful, I see him both for the millionth and the very first time and my chest aches almost physically as the walls around the place in my heart I tried to confine him into crumble and fall.

Gale senses the change and steps closer.

"I love you, Catnip," he whispers.

Closing my eyes, I let his words sink in and fill my heart whole. They feel good there.

"That wouldn't interfere with us being best friends, right?" I ask softly.

Gale chuckles lightly. "Not at all."

"Not even if I say I love you too?"

His smile, brighter than I've ever seen it, reassures me before his words. "Even better doesn't cancel best."

I return his smile and find no motivation to protest when he twines his free arm around my waist to embrace me. Instead, I just splay my hands against his chest, feeling the lean muscles under his worn shirt and his heartbeat accelerating in tune with mine. Gale smiles down at me, with tenderness and a twinkling hint of mischief in his eyes. Having learned to perceive his intent long ago, I know for certain that he's going to kiss me now...

Panic rises in my chest, inflating like a bubble and bursting into fireworks as Gale pulls me closer.

… and then I realize something worse: there's nothing I _want_ to do to prevent it.

The gears in my head are turning with desperate speed, but only to loop in an attempt to rationalize the irrational.

_Well, if so many people keep doing it, kissing can't hurt… but just like anything not essential for survival, it must be overrated… maybe I could give it a try, just to know what all the fuss is about_…

Gale leans down, but only to rest his forehead against mine, as if allowing me few more seconds to back away. Maybe I would take the chance, if I could remember how to think, but his hot, mint-scented breath fanning over my lips seems to have robbed me of the ability, so I just close my eyes and let it happen. My head tilts up almost involuntarily, our noses brush lightly and our lips meet. The warmth and softness of the touch send a pleasant tingle coursing throughout my body, weakening my knees and beguiling my fingers to grasp tightly onto Gale's shirt. Emboldened by my response, Gale embraces me even tighter, his lips caressing mine with increasing fervor. I cling to him with all my strength, lost in the sweet delirium and unwilling to pull away, not even for a gasp of air, because this foolish activity suddenly feels just as essential as breathing. Every cell in my body seems to come alive, as if I were waking from a long sleep.

Only when I begin to see stars under my lids, I part the kiss, inhaling deeply.

"So you think you can live with us being even better friends?" asks Gale.

"I can survive anything with you. I just don't know how would I survive without you," I say truthfully.

Well, perhaps I could survive without Gale's kisses, just like I somehow managed before, but I'm not willing to take unnecessary risks, so I just tangle my fingers in his hair and yank his head down, pressing my lips back where they belong for a deeper taste of life.

_After all, why not?_

Now we are about as far from death as we can get in Panem, and we have a whole year that will, in a way, be _our_ first… and that may be our last.

_We'd better make the most of it…_


	2. The Night

**A/N:** The first chapter of this was first published as a one-shot called "Survivors of the Day". I decided to rename it, edit it for readability and compatibility and expand it into a story. I've been meaning to post this later, after finishing some other stuff, but this chapter begged to be written ASAP and I simply couldn't resist.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything THG-related and the opening quote is by William Blake.

**Warning:** Lots of fluff and some sugary lemonade towards the end. Enjoy ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Love, Thorns and Fire<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>II.<strong>

**The Night**

_To see a world in a grain of sand,_

_And a heaven in a wild flower,_

_Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,_

_And eternity in an hour._

* * *

><p>Almost a year has passed since I abandoned a part of my icy shell on the slag heap, of all places.<p>

Sometime after that beautifully fateful day, I overheard a bit of school gossip about a certain use of the place where I'd unknowingly asked Gale to take me. When I confronted him, I couldn't decide between pummeling him and laughing myself to death, so I attempted to do both at once.

"How… the... hell… could… we… sink… that… low…" I gasped and punctuated the words with punches. He just stood there grinning and took them like they didn't hurt at all. Heck, I was doing my_ best_.

"As far as I remember, you wanted to climb to the top," he said when I finally needed to take a breather and moved in to clasp me in his arms to prevent further assaults. "To at least get above the fence when we couldn't go beyond it. That shouldn't count as sinking low."

"Nope," I conceded. "But doing stupid things that everyone else is doing definitely should."

Gale shook his head exasperatedly. "Why do you care about what everyone else is doing?"

_Because_. "Is there anything I should know about _you_ going there with someone else?"

Well, considering all the time he'd spent with me during the preceding year or so, there probably wasn't, but still, I found it hard to let the matter drop. I didn't want _us_ to be tainted any more than absolutely necessary.

He smiled at me, all sincerity and no guilt, and shrugged lightly. "No. It's been a time. And nobody can compare to you, anyway."

I frowned at that. Sure, I was far too young when we met, and the age and experience difference between us was far more significant and even looked far more pronounced back then. But I grew up to be quite possessive. "Really?"

"Really. And nothing compares to what we have. At least I hope so," he said, eyes twinkling a little.

I hoped so too.

"So I'm not just some girl?"

Gale wrapped me more securely in his arms and fixed me with that intense gaze I could never resist. "Catnip, whatever you do, you can't be _just some girl_. That's why I love you."

I had no scathing response to that and didn't want to admit it, so I decided to kiss him instead.

On a second thought, the place seemed somehow fitting. Only the constant apprehension we'd lived in prevented me from considering our chances earlier and that rightfully belonged in the trash with the byproduct of the slave labor of our District.

After breaking the kiss I ended the discussion by threatening to shoot Gale in the eye if he as much as considered ever going there without me knowing, but the look in his eyes before we resumed kissing assured me that it was unnecessary. Besides, I wasn't planning to let him out of my sight for long enough to go anywhere without me knowing anyway.

The memory made us both laugh ever since.

* * *

><p>My old fears proved unfounded and nothing in our relationship changed for the worse. We were still a team, closer and better attuned, and thus usually even more efficient. Despite frequent temptation, we couldn't afford to get too preoccupied with each other and risk coming home either empty-handed or not at all. But I had to admit that enriching our struggle to survive with some impractical indulgence made me look forward to every next day a little more. Right motivation does wonders.<p>

Inside the fence, we kept our relationship casual, showing any outward signs of affection only in the presence of our families that took the news as if it wasn't _news _at all. But we had our entirely private moments in the woods, where we could momentarily forget any and every hardship. Gale sometimes sighed that _I'm killing him_ as I directed his hands back to innocuous places after we'd kissed too passionately for too long. But he never pushed beyond my comfort zone and I just averted my eyes from his burning gaze with tacit gratitude for his patience. He was my best friend after all. He wouldn't hurt me just because he was in love with me and I loved him all the more for it. Only sometimes, I felt as if I were killing myself too, because his most audacious touches made me feel alive in ways I never considered before, waking a pool of liquid heat within me to churning life… like his first kiss had, only stronger and even more irresistible.

* * *

><p>Time passed too quickly.<p>

With another reaping day approaching, the threat blackened above our heads again, like particles of coal dust coalescing into a dark cloud. Even though we didn't acknowledge our nasty premonitions verbally, we both felt them and held onto each other little more desperately with every passing day. During every pleasant, idle moment we shared, Gale held me as if it had to be our last and I found it increasingly more difficult to pull away. Our caresses felt different, more foolish and desperate, almost like stitches joining us together that would only exacerbate the pain if we were to be ripped apart. Yet every time I let my heart melt in Gale's embrace, I knew that I wouldn't exchange the bittersweet flutters of love for the insipid safety of ignorance. We both wouldn't give up what we _could_ have and it somehow felt right.

* * *

><p>But now the possible price of <em>right<em> seems too high.

The reaping is tomorrow.

If we are so right together, how wrong would it be if we lost each other after everything we've been through?

We have one more day and one more night before our fears either dissipate or come to pass. The thought weighs me down almost physically, but I still stride towards our meeting place quicker than usual, determined not to waste a second. _Besides, even if I weren't hurrying to meet Gale_, I reason with myself, _time presses_. With the Games, and consequently more regular supply of electricity coming up, we need to store up to the best of our ability and every bit of hunting time is precious.

Afternoons, early mornings before school like now – anything we can squeeze in.

* * *

><p>The sight of Gale waiting melts my pensive frown into a smile that only brightens when he notices my approach and greets me with his own.<p>

"Guess what I shot?" he asks when I sit beside him, and reaches a hand into his bag only to keeping there, hidden.

I just raise my eyebrows, clueless as to what the surprise might be. Gale is obviously not in the mood to taunt me for long and pulls out a loaf of real bakery bread pierced with an arrow.

_Oh, if only those were _so _easy to get, _I think wistfully.

But I still burst out laughing at the joke and discard the arrow to inhale the rich aroma from the puncture mark. "Yum. What's the occasion?"

Gale's smile vanishes instantly. "Celebrating the last day guaranteed." He tries to keep the resentment from his voice and the frown from creeping on his face, but with no success. "Tomorrow we might as well…"

I tune him out by sheer force of habit. I already know I will agree with anything he has to say, but I don't want to think about it, not now, not when I'm with him.

"… just because those bastards think they can…"

_Tomorrow_.

If this indeed were the last day, I don't want anything to spoil it. Today, I don't want the cloud of fear and oppression and hatred to follow us to the only place where it _doesn't have to_.

Leaning forward, I grab a fistful of Gale's hair, yank his face closer and press my lips against his.

The move is a little forceful, but neither of us minds.

Kissing Gale is the only fool-proof way of shutting up his rants. I'm quite glad I found that out – he can do better things with his lips than shouting pointless rage at the Capitol.

When we break apart to take a breath, Gale – fortunately – seems to have forgotten what he was talking about. Instead, he looks away, skimming the horizon with narrowed eyes, as if searching for something. What for, I have no idea.

"We could do it, you know," he says suddenly, with a sharp turn to face me. "Take off. Live in the woods," he elaborates when I stare blankly in answer.

Turning away, I let the statement sink in and mull it over. We are used to long silences after all.

_Live _in the woods. I'd _love_ that. This _might_ be the last chance.

"Yeah, we could," I agree pensively and this time Gale looks surprised. He definitely didn't expect me to agree. I can't blame him, I'm surprised myself too, especially by the unexpected turn my thoughts have taken. There's one place we could go, a place I've never taken him before, a place no other _living_ person from our district has as much as seen. A perfect place for us to run to. At least for one night. A little escape. Just for _us_.

"But we'll have to be back by tomorrow," I add.

Now Gale looks at me as if I lost my mind. "Catnip, what-"

"You know as well as I do we can't _really_ leave," I snap.

He nods. "I know. I just wish we could."

The wistfulness in his tone breaks my heart a little. "My offer still stands. I know somewhere we could go."

"Where?" I've never seen Gale look this curious and the effect is almost comical.

"Surprise," I say adamantly. "Now let's not forget about this," I say matter-of-factly, nodding at the bread I'm still clutching, its pleasant warmth permeating my hands.

* * *

><p><em>It's Prim's first reaping. I shouldn't leave her alone<em>. _Not even for one night_.

The thought haunts me throughout the day, ever since the moment I released her hand after walking with her to school. I would have gladly skipped, but they are more careful about attendance just before the reaping. Sizing up the crops, I guess.

Of course, I would have gone hunting in the afternoon. Maybe returned after she fell asleep with mother, who seemed more lively and more proactive in the last few months than I've seen her in a long time. I'm pleased to see mother healing herself through healing others, and ever since Prim demonstrated her almost uncanny ability to follow in her footsteps, their bond keeps strengthening as they work together. I _know_ they will be perfectly fine 'till the morning.

But still… I feel somehow selfish and don't know how to explain my plans. Not even to myself.

* * *

><p>Turns out I don't have to.<p>

Prim should have arrived home before me, because her classes finish earlier, but I find the house empty. A note on the kitchen table says _Emergency. Might be long_. I shudder as I think about what might have happened to require their attention, but I'm confident they'll be able to handle it.

Beside the note rests an overturned bowl. I peek under to discover a lump of cheese wrapped in basil leaves. Prim must have left it out for me, knowing we may miss each other at home. My lovely Prim. Where would I be without her? I hope more fervently than ever for a chance to be here with her and Gale and our families this time tomorrow, to celebrate another escape.

But the odds have been in our favor for _suspiciously_ long by now, considering our wretched number of entries... and what is one compared to twenty... or worse, forty-two?

* * *

><p>Slightly worried and slightly relieved, I prepare and pack everything necessary, including a blanket, and set out to meet Gale. We'll have to try extra hard tomorrow in order to make up for the detour I'm planning, but I don't doubt we'll be able to make it. We <em>are<em> a good team.

The Capitol might claim one of us, or both of us, _tomorrow_, and I want us to belong only to each other while we can. I wouldn't be able to prevent them from sending either or both of us to death, but I'm not letting them steal our lives while we can still live them.

* * *

><p>When I arrive back to our meeting place, Gale smiles in greeting and pulls his hand from behind his back with a flourish. I find myself face to face with a bouquet of wild phlox, larkspur and primroses, all pinkish-white and blue and golden and beautiful.<p>

_What the hell?_ I thought I discouraged Gale from giving me flowers sometime when "catnip for my Catnip" turned from romantic to hilarious and he could no longer say the line with a straight face after glimpsing the amusement in my eyes.

"Oh…" I automatically extend my hand to accept the beautiful creation, perfectly aligned and tied neatly with a piece of twine. However much I'd like to chew him out for the gesture, I can't help but feel pleased. "What possessed you?"

Gale just shrugs with a disarming grin. "Well, since you have a surprise for me, I had to have something up my sleeve, right?"

"Right." I stand on my tiptoes for a brief kiss. "Thanks. C'mon, let's get going. It's quite far."

He raises his eyebrows, but doesn't question me when I don't offer further explanation, just picks up his stuffed bag and follows me.

Quietly, we set on our way towards my secret lake.

* * *

><p>I missed the place.<p>

Before Gale and I grew close enough to be inseparable, I used to come there alone now and then to commune with my fondest memories. And after I no longer felt like roaming the woods without him by my side, I've been reluctant to bring him here and preferred not to come at all. As if I wanted to keep a dividing line between the girl I used to be and the woman I was on the verge of becoming. But now it feels appropriate, like a long-awaited moment of reconciliation. I used to come here with my father who created me and now I'm bringing Gale with me, as my lover to complete me.

Instinctively, I reach for his hand. We are close, just about to emerge into the clearing, and though he ventured no verbal protest, I've been sensing his impatience for a time. Gale smiles slightly, reassured by my gesture, and tangles his fingers with mine.

A slight tremor runs through my body, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.

_It's okay_, I remind myself. _It's life_.

"Wow," Gale breathes in astonishment as he takes in the scene before us, a picture of radiant beauty that surpasses even the most vivid of my memories. Soft evening breeze skims the lapis-blue surface of the lake, disrupting the mirror-image of surrounding trees into tiny ripples. Their crests gleam golden in the glare of sunset reflected from a layer of gossamer clouds. On the farther shore, an ancient willow caresses the water with overhung branches and hides a tiny concrete cottage in its green shadow.

A place of perfection.

"We've never been here before," remarks Gale. He hardly ever bothers to waste his breath on stating the obvious and the hint of exasperation in his voice elicits a slight pang of remorse. "Why?"

Perhaps I shouldn't have kept the place secret for so long. But I just couldn't bring myself to do otherwise.

I squeeze his hand tighter. "Better late than never, isn't it?"

Fortunately, he doesn't press the issue. I don't know how would I explain if he insisted on hearing any. I can't express everything this place, and the fact that I decided to share it with him, means for me. But we don't really need words to communicate the most important matters. Gale just studies my face for a few moments and smiles, a smile that somehow manages to make this place even more beautiful and reassures me that bringing him here was _right_. He understands me, he always does.

I tug on his hand and steer him towards the cabin. "Dinner?"

His smile spreads into a grin. "Count me in."

* * *

><p>Gale sets few snares along the way, and just before we enter the little house, I lay my bouquet at the shore of the lake, dipping the stems in water and weighing them down with stones to prevent my gift from floating away.<p>

The interior of the house is unchanged. The pile of wood I'd stacked here years ago is still waiting and I sweep dry leaves that have drifted in through glassless windows into a pile and toss it into the small hearth to provide better kindling.

"How did you find this place, Catnip?" asks Gale as he lights the fire.

"My father brought me here. Years ago." My voice falters slightly and I busy myself with smoothing the blankets I'd spread in front of the fireplace. Gale knows well enough how many years at minimum. "I used to come here now and then. I… I… needed to come here alone. Until… "

"Until now," Gale concludes when words fail me again. I blink rapidly, not wanting to stain the present we are sharing here with tears shed for pasts both sweet and bitter. They don't fall, but Gale still reaches over to caress my cheek as if to wipe them away as soon as he settles on the blanket with me. "Thanks for bringing me here."

I nod mutely, pressing my face into his palm. The tenderly awkward moment is soon interrupted by the loud growling of my stomach. I have eaten a little after school - stew from my morning catch. But I was careful to leave enough for mom and Prim to have substantial dinner and the long trek here has taken its toll.

Gale chuckles and withdraws his hand. "Can't forget what we're here for, right?"

I laugh, both in answer and in relief. "Sure. Prim left us cheese."

"Great." Gale reaches into his bag. "See what I got." He pulls out four slices of bread, presumably the remnant of the loaf we'd started on this morning, plus an apple, round and golden yellow.

My eyes widen at the rare delicacy. "Wow. How could you afford it?"

He shrugs. "Saved up."

"It will go perfectly with the cheese," I comment. "And toast." I reach over to my quiver, take two old wooden arrows I'd meticulously cleaned this afternoon and hold them out, inspired by his little joke from the morning.

Gale's eyebrows rise so high they all but disappear in his disheveled black hair and promptly settle back down into a pensive frown. "Toast. Right." He takes two slices of the bread and impales each on one arrow. Thousand emotions and hopes and dreams and questions unsaid swirl in his eyes like a tornado. "Of course. Katniss, I… we..."

While he struggles for words, I hand him "his" arrow, lightly brushing my fingers against his. Then I press the finger of my freed hand to my lips. I don't want him to say anything aloud.

Gale nods and turns to the fire. We toast the bread together, never verbally acknowledging that we might be following or perhaps just tragically mocking a tradition.

After it's done, we spread the warm slices with the goat cheese from Prim and garnish them with cut-up apple. We share them, alternating between taking bites on our own and feeding each other. It's the most delicious meal of my life, the tart and sweet and rich flavors melting into the taste of a promise I want to fulfill.

* * *

><p>"Wanna take a swim?" I mutter a while after we'd finished, opting to keep the dinner on the light side and save the last two slices of bread for the morning. Gale's eyes have already begun to droop sleepily as we snuggled together and stared into our little fire, but my suggestion revives him instantly. He all but jumps to his feet and lifts me along with him, kissing me briefly before planting my feet on the ground.<p>

"This sure beats the creek," he says as we emerge back out to the lakeshore.

I think of the little natural dam in our favorite stream where I first taught him how to swim. "Yeah."

My voice shakes a little. What are we going to learn _now_?

I take a deep breath and shoot a cautious sidelong glance at Gale, who is already lazily unbuttoning his shirt. Perhaps I should say something. Suggest. Ask. But I can't bring myself to.

Instead, I quickly strip until only the shadows of late woodland sunset clothe me and rush into the water. I figure there's no point in getting any part of my attire wet, not if I plan on taking everything off. All I need is to let things take a natural course. The water momentarily closes above my head, pleasantly tepid, but not nearly enough to cool my heated face.

My decision might be born out of despair, but I willingly nurture and strengthen it with love. We may have forever, but we may have only one night and I don't want to lose Gale without knowing the ultimate delight of his touch. I'm not letting fear steal that from me. I'm not letting a vague threat of death stop me from living.

A mighty splash echoes in the silence and Gale quickly catches up with me, embracing me so tightly I can feel that he decided to follow my dress-code. He pulls us both back underwater. Seconds later, we break the surface, closely entwined, gasping lips first quenching our thirst for air and then connecting to appease our hunger for each other. We float together in weightless bliss until our feet hit the bottom. Gale lightly tugs me towards the shore, but I hesitate, suddenly afraid of making the move and burying my toes in the soft mud. I want to hide, but there's nowhere I want to hide, nowhere but in his embrace.

_Does that make me crazy?_ Perhaps. But I feel good there.

I press my unquenchable face into the crook of his neck.

He can't see me, but he can feel me, and I can feel him, every inch of our bodies pressed together. Perhaps it _should_ feel wrong, but it doesn't, not at all. The last vestiges of whatever protective armor I tried to keep between us seem to melt away in the heat between our aligned bodies, disintegrate under the gentle pressure of Gale's fingertips caressing my naked back and vanish under the spell his lips weave in my hair.

"I love you," he whispers as his mouth travels close enough to breathe into my ear.

I tighten my hold. "I know. I love you too." It no longer hurts to admit. Admitting it physically might hurt a little, but-

"It's nothing to be afraid of," Gale murmurs into my thoughts, lips touching my temple now.

I stifle a laugh against his skin, a little more nervous than I'd like. "Well, it's been working just fine for a while…"

His hands trail lower under the water and my voice dissolves into a moan. "We can make everything work just fine, Catnip," he assures me and I _want_ to believe him.

I push a tiny bit away from him, my lips brushing against his neck as I lift my head.

"Let's find out."

* * *

><p>We kiss and then emerge from the water, naked and cleaner than we've been in a long time. Ready to be covered in each other. I feel Gale's eyes caressing me, their intense gaze turning the rivulets of water on my skin to boiling streams of lava.<p>

Our bed is the soft green grass on the shore and the emerging stars shine down on us like bright guiding lights. We move with tender, fumbling grace, but our instinctive rapport easily counterbalances any lack of experience. Our bodies feel intimately familiar, but not entirely _known_ yet, so we take our sweet time and relish every stage of the exploration. Fingertips gently tracing and charting new paths… palms spreading the tingle of desire over every surface… lips and tongues adding scent and taste to the mosaic of perfect acquaintance we started to compose from sight and touch and intermittently completed with ragged breaths and loving whispers.

My instinctive fear almost returns when Gale's fingers trail between my legs, gently opening me like a flower and coaxing honey from the calyx of my desire. But I'm already too unraveled to acknowledge it and welcome the sweet overwhelming delight instead.

"Please be careful," I whisper breathlessly just before our bodies become one. After all, one slip can mean life or death, that's what I can still remember and that's what I want to forget.

"I promise," Gale whispers back, gently brushing my flyaway hair from my face.

I trust him like I always do, and let him give and take everything. It does hurt a little, but the pain is negligible compared to the joy our perfect union brings me. _W_e are complete. We find our rhythm easily, like best partners, best friends, best lovers… and share our bliss just like we'd shared the bread earlier, only to burn it to fuel our desire. A brief eternity later, the sum of our sensations is crowned by the blinding halo of _something more_ and through the haze of my own climax; I feel the warmth of his release _safely_ anoint me from outside.

Before the breathless spell of the aftermath lulls us to sleep, we take another short dip in the lake to clean up, and then retreat into the cabin. Not bothering with clothes, we nestle in the blankets in a close embrace, sharing the heat of our skin. Gale props his head on his elbow, staring down at me with a crooked smile.

"C'mon. We need to get some sleep," I say softly.

He sighs in response, the corners of his mouth suddenly heavy with defiance. "You think I'd waste a moment of this on sleeping?"

I shake my head at him. "We'll have a lot to do tomorrow…" My voice falters a little. "And not that much time."

"Not much time. That's it," Gale agrees with a note of bitterness.

A frustrated sigh escapes me. I share all his fears, but don't want to them to mar this moment. "Shh," I whisper, gently laying my palm against his cheek and trying to coax him to lie down. "I'll sing to you," I say in a whim of inspiration. "Deal?"

He frowns in surprise, but his eyes soften. "You never do that."

"There's a lot of things I _never_ do," I remind him. "Don't you like it when I happen to change my mind?"

The frown dissolves into a smile and he lays down, gently lifting my head and pushing his arm under for me to use as a makeshift pillow. "I sure do." His other hand slides up my thigh, pressing my body closer.

"Good. Close your eyes."

He stubbornly _doesn't_ and keeps watching me through his long dark lashes, but I begin to sing anyway.

_Deep in the meadow, under the willow..._

Gale smiles wider, probably at my choice of an old children's lullaby, but doesn't question it. It _is_ odd... considering what just happened. We aren't children anymore. But strangely enough, I don't feel any less innocent than I'd been before. Just a bit more right.

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow  
>Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes<em>

Now he does close his eyes, the spell of my song obviously accomplishing more than my spoken words ever could.

_And when again they open, the sun will rise_

At least that's for sure. We don't know what the day brings... but the sun _will_ rise. Isn't that a wonderful certainty?

_Here it's safe, here it's warm_  
><em>Here the daisies guard you from every harm<em>  
><em>Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true<em>  
><em>Here is the place where I love you.<em>

Gale smiles, keeping his eyes closed_.  
><em>

_Deep in the meadow, hidden far away_  
><em>A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray<em>  
><em>Forget your woes and let your troubles lay<em>  
><em>And when again it's morning, they'll wash away<em>

Oh, how I wish they would. I sing softly to the melody of Gale's breath and the beat of our hearts, lightly threading my fingers through his hair and caressing his face with the wishful words of my song. Gale's not asleep yet, but his face relaxes as if he was, the slight worry lines melting back to youthful beauty he shouldn't have to lose.

_Here it's safe, here it's warm  
>Here the daisies guard you from every harm<br>Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true  
>Here is the place where I love you.<em>

"I love you," Gale echoes and kisses my forehead, a warm, soft, sleepy touch. I murmur assent and nestle closer. This is _our_ place of perfection. I don't even remember feeling warmer, safer or more intensely loved.

_Love_. The most precious thing we have.

Love can't be smoked or preserved or stored for hard times. Love _is now_ and I don't want our present to end. I wish that tomorrow would bring our dreams true, dreams that the odds won't separate us. Not our worst nightmares. I settle into the comfortable cocoon of Gale's arms, and dream of transforming into a winged creature, powerful enough to save all my loved ones from every harm.


	3. The Condamned

**A/N:** Thanks to all readers, alerters, favoriters and especially to my wonderful reviewers! Your feedback feeds my muses!

Looks like the sense of implied doom in the last chapter messed with y'all just fine, so I tried to get this one done asap and let you know where I'm going with the story.

The opening quote is by William Blake again.

And the typo in the chapter title is 100% intentional.

Enjoy ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Love, Thorns and Fire<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>III.<strong>

**The Condamned**

_Some are born to sweet delight,_

_Some are born to endless night._

* * *

><p>We awake at the first hint of dawn, not quite ready to unravel the elemental tangle of limbs we've become in the course of the night. The steady rhythm of Gale's heartbeat and breath that had lulled me to slumber earlier coaxes me to hyper-awareness now. Though slightly stiff and sore from our deliberately cramped sleeping arrangement, I'm almost astonished at how our wonderfully we fit and how <em>natural<em> it feels to wake up wrapped in his arms.

_I could get used to this… if given the chance_.

"Good mornin'," Gale whispers into my hair._ I could get used to that too._

"Sure it is," I answer with a smile.

We stretch our muscles to the best of our ability, flinching and chuckling at every inadvertent bump of our bones. When we roll back together, I feel Gale's smile against my forehead as his hands begin to roam and tighten my grip on him in response, relishing the warmth between our cradled bodies and desperately clinging to the illusion of freedom and safety we created together… the illusion of a future that feels too irresistibly real when it seems to be close enough to posses.

But we can't _really_ possess anything more than the present.

So that's what we do.

Gale's lips are as soft and gentle as his body is taut and hard against mine. The light rain that taps the roof and rustles beyond the windows strengthens my conviction that we _could _remain here a while longer…

We touch each other like we wanted to commit every inch of our skin to living memory, to claim everything we can have, to fuse ourselves indivisibly together. First we try to settle for a slow, fluid rhythm and savor the connection as long as possible, but our love fuelled by fear and fear fuelled by love urge us on, escalating our dance of mortal life to a frantic and inexorable cadence.

After collapsing in a satisfied mess of skin, flesh, sweat and sticky rapture we lay knotted and glued together, our breaths slowly evening, pulses calming and minds reluctantly returning from between dizzy suns to the earth.

Too soon, the rain eases to a trickle before ceasing entirely. Reluctantly, we drag ourselves up, retrieve the clothes we'd carelessly tossed into the corner in the evening and head out to clean up and to get dressed.

As we emerge into the fresh wet sunlight, our shadows startle a butterfly from the dewy grass. My gaze follows its erratic flight towards the iridescent arch of a rainbow fading in the distance. In a fit of futility, I wish escape were this easy. But for us, beings rooted for this earth, it's not. However much I can't bring myself to regret it, I know we've already ran further and for longer than we should have.

Every fiber of my being screams at me to stay here, but I know our purpose is elsewhere.

* * *

><p>After quickly devouring our last two slices of bread for breakfast, we gather prey from the snares Gale had set the evening before and set on our way.<p>

Our steps are heavy, but we are used to that. We can manage.

At the edge of the clearing we stop for a moment to indulge in a last look. I try to etch it into my memory, along with every aspect of the new significance the place gained tonight. Gale's hand closes around mine and I look up, only to behold the reflection of our glorious world in his smoky eyes.

"I hope we'll be able to return here," he says with uncharacteristic softness.

"Me too," I nod.

The brief kiss we share after tastes of slightly-stale bread and foolish hope, with a hint of delicious disobedience.

* * *

><p>I shoot two more wild turkeys along the way and we make frequent stops to gather greens and strawberries. I opted not to take my bouquet from the lake, and rued the decision as we set out, but it proved to be right later. Our load grew so heavy we ended up tying our blankets into bundles and using them for transport. The flowers sure wouldn't have survived the journey intact, and I consoled myself with hope that my beautiful gift will wait for our return in the lake, at the end of the rainbow under the willow.<p>

We make the last stop at our rock to gather some blackberries. They should sell for a good price – money keeps best and with the Games approaching, we'll have less forage time – even if… WHEN… we both stay here. But we allow ourselves two as a special indulgence. Holding them in our hands, one for each, we step few feet apart to perform our little ritual.

"May the odds…" Gale begins with a crooked smile.

"… be ever in _our_ favor," I finish defiantly. A subtle alteration of the official phrase, but that's how I want it to be. That's how I _need_ it to be. Anything else feels so unthinkable I don't dare to think about it.

We throw in the same moment and the berries sail the air in high arcs. Our lips close after them and then meet in a bloody-juicy kiss.

_May the odds be ever in our favor_.

* * *

><p>After some rigorous, but very successful bargaining at the Hob, we make our last stop at the Mayor's, who always gives us the best price for strawberries. His daughter Madge opens the door. She looks beautiful in her pearly white dress and with her golden hair held up by a pink ribbon, but her face is ashen and the shadows under her eyes attest to a sleepless night.<p>

_Could she be so worried about the reaping?_ She can't have more than five slips.

"Hi, Katniss… Gale…" her voice, never entirely cheerful, rings more hollow than usual. She uncharacteristically avoids my eyes.

"Hey, Madge. You okay?" I ask with concern.

"Sure," she says without conviction. "The usual?"

I nod and we quickly exchange the goods and few more terse and uncomfortable pleasantries.

Oddly enough, she doesn't wish us good luck.

* * *

><p>"What was with her today?" I mutter when we walk out of earshot. I'm grateful that Gale didn't take a jab on her. Persuading him that she is my friend too and it's not her fault that she's the Mayor's daughter took some effort, but I more or less succeeded.<p>

Gale frowns and shrugs dismissively. "Whatever it is, it will pass in few hours, right?"

"Yeah. We'll all be better in a few hours," I agree.

He is silent for a long time. "Hopefully," he says just before we part to go our separate ways and squeezes my hand for a moment. "See you in a bit."

I just nod, my throat suddenly too tight for comfort.

* * *

><p>When I arrive, mother and Prim are home, already dressed. It's high time after all, I arrived with only few minutes to spare.<p>

"Where have you been yesterday?" I ask as I quickly wash up and change into a nice blue dress mother had laid out for me.

"Mrs. Undersee was very sick," she explains. I notice she looks pale, worn and distracted, as if one single night had set her own improvement back for years.

"The Mayor's wife?" I ask incredulously. "But she can afford the real doctor, can't she?"

"She no longer trusts him. She had a breakdown and thought he'd poisoned her."

That would explain Madge's state. But still, why would they call for my mother, of all people? Maybe she knew the Mayor's wife before she was, well, the Mayor's wife?

"But she might have overdosed on her own, we can't be entirely sure," mom continues.

"And she's better now?"

Mom nods and busies herself with my hair. It's still slightly damp from the tight braid I'd kept it in after taking numerous baths in the lake, but she doesn't comment, just silently twists it into a more elaborate hair-do.

"How long have you been there?" I ask, curious.

"We stayed the whole night; we arrived just few hours ago," Prim chimes in. Despite everything, I breathe a sigh of relief. I have nothing to feel guilty about after all.

She moves into my field of vision, all pale and golden and blue-eyed and beautiful. My precious sister. I feel a slight pang of unease when I notice she's wearing my first reaping clothes – a slightly-too-loose skirt with a blouse that wouldn't stay tucked in and forms an endearing duck-tail. My little duck, old enough to wear my first _reaping_ clothes. Old enough to be reaped… and there was nothing I could've done to prevent it. I couldn't save her from having one slip in the reaping ball. It's precious little, but still, the thought that the Capitol as much as dared to put her name in there feels like the worst insult and injury combined. To think they _presume_ they have the power to take her…

I shake my head to dispel the unpleasant thoughts and try to distract myself with mundane matters. I take a better look at her.

"Have you slept?" I ask. Prim looks less worn than Madge and my mother, but I don't like the idea of her not getting proper rest, whatever the circumstances.

"Yeah, don't worry," she assures me. "Madge even played me a lullaby on her piano. Mom didn't need me much, but Madge was relieved to have me there to help her pull through. And she gave me this. For good luck." Prim points to a pin on her blouse, an elaborately crafted little bird enclosed in a circle. I peek closer. I haven't seen nearly enough real gold in my life to know for sure, but it looks genuine.

"For good luck?" I all but exclaim. "We could live off it for months!"

Prim shrugs with a disarming smile.

"Maybe. But now we need the good luck more, don't we?"

I sigh in agreement. The next few hours are crucial – whatever comes after, we'll be lucky if we all get to face it all at home.

"You are right," I concede and try to smile. For her. _Anything_ for her.

* * *

><p>As the fateful hour approaches, we make our way to the square, maneuvering to our roped-off areas. It takes all my self-control to release Prim's hand and leave her in the section for twelve-year-old girls.<p>

_We are crops to be reaped… but she can't be.__ I won't allow it_, I think as I assume my own prescribed position.

Stretching my neck, I seek Gale in the section for the oldest boys and find him easily. He stands out in every crowd. He must sense my gaze and turns towards me with a half-smile that gives me a completely inappropriate stir of elation. But then I think about his forty-two slips and my stomach clenches. _They can't take him from me either_. After this night, the prospect of losing him feels even more unthinkable than before. The memory of his caresses still lingers on my skin and though I can muster no regret, fear threatens to overwhelm me. I wanted everything and I got everything I wanted, but the more I have, the more I can lose.

I hate losing.

And I know how much he hates the idea of losing me; the worry is etched on his face so clearly I can see it from the distance.

The clock strikes two.

We turn away, pretending to focus on the stage for the compulsory spectacle. But we know the history of Panem already, so why bother? And the list of District Twelve Victors is short enough to be easily remembered. The only living one, Haymitch Abernathy, staggers on the stage as if on cue and proceeds to greet the District Twelve escort and reaper-in-pink Effie Trinket with a big drunken hug. He manages to ruffle both her composure and her garish wig, but the slight entertainment does nothing to alleviate my mood. After all, Haymitch is much funnier when he bargains with Ripper the illegal alcohol seller at the Hob.

And no comedy can distract me from the fact that Effie already wished us all _Happy Hunger Games_ and moved towards the girls' reaping ball. My name is there twenty times. Prim's name is there once. She can't find it. She just can't.

But she does.

My sister's name echoes over the square and the unthinkable starts to unravel.

While I stand here, frozen and for all intents and purposed dead, Prim steps toward the stage.

The cameras are already devouring her, pin and blouse and duck-tail and all.

I can't let it happen. Can't let them take her.

She's _sacred_.

The life that all but fled my body rushes back in a whirlwind of adrenaline. Before I can think about it, I'm shoving my way through the crowd, towards the Peacekeepers that are already ushering Prim onto the stage.

_Keep your filthy hands off my sister, bastards!_ I want to shout, but I don't. No, the words that leave my lips are different.

"I volunteer!" I scream. They pause, letting Prim go and I shove her behind me. "I volunteer as a tribute!"

Let them take me instead.

"Nooo, Katniss, you can't do that!" screams Prim, clawing at my dress from behind, twisting her delicate fingers in the fabric. The pain in her voice matches the agony I felt when her name got called too closely for comfort.

"Prim, let go!" I mutter, fighting to keep my voice steady and my tears from spilling over and trying to twist from her grip. Before I manage that, I feel stronger fingers prying her away. Freed, I turn to look into Gale's eyes.

"Up you go, Catnip." His voice is almost steady, but the pain and the suppressed hint of betrayal in his eyes break my heart. Perhaps the odds wouldn't have to separate us, but when the _one single worse_ thing happened, I couldn't let it be. And Gale knows that. He knows my priorities.

I nod with all the composure and confidence I can muster and mount the gallows.

For Prim.

I don't regret it.

Maybe just a little, when Effie praises me for displaying such _spirit of the Games_. It's wrong. It's _all_ wrong.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister! Want to steal all the glory, don't we?" chirps Effie after I choke out my name on request. The realization of _what just happened_ slowly sinks in and I'm so lost I hardly notice the proceedings around me.

_I didn't want to steal anything. I'm not letting you steal Prim_, I think. _And I'm not letting you steal…_

Gale's name echoes over the square before it flits through my brain. Effie's capitol-accent seems to profane it in some way, just like it did with Prim's.

_No_.

_Just no_.

I force myself to breathe while I still can, but a weight seems to have settled on my chest, like a demon choking the life out of me.

_It can't true_.

But Gale is already on his way and the nightmare comes a little truer with every step he takes towards the stage.

I'm frozen, only my eyes follow his lithe and certain movements as he climbs the steps to stand side by side with me. I can discern a hint of screaming despair under the mask of composure he wears so well, but I bet nobody else can. Though reaped, Gale glares into the cameras with blazing defiance and stands with the determination and confidence of a volunteer that had more than a few seconds to decide. Maybe a whole minute.

Nobody offers to take his place.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present the tributes for the 74th Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne!" gloats Effie.

_Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne_.

Apart from the accent, and the setting, and the situation and everything… the combination of our names sounds oddly comforting.

Gale offers me his hand without cue, not for a handshake, but in the usual _come on, let's tackle this together_ gesture we sometimes share out in the woods, where nobody else can see us. We've never actually held hands on the street, preferring to keep our relationship private, but now I grasp onto him and willingly flaunt our unity.

It's against the protocol and possibly dangerous but for us, but it feels appropriate. The pressure of Gale's fingers on mine, intense enough to hurt, anchors me to life when my world's been reaped from under my feet.

So the odds didn't _separate_ us.

If I wasn't already worried sick about what will happen to our families in our – perhaps permanent – absence, it would feel _right_, in the most twisted sense I can possibly attribute to the word.

We belong together.

We'll fight for our lives against the Capitol, like we've been doing for years… but now they would be able to _see_ it. We glare into the cameras together. Whatever they do, they can't turn us against each other.

Effie eyes our little demonstration of defiance with bemusement, but quickly regains her composure and asks for applause. None is forthcoming, though. The people of the district obviously hate to see us go; I find disapproval etched in every face, even more prominently that usual. Instead of clapping like good obedient audience, they lift their hands to their lips and then hold them out in a three-fingered salute of love and respect.

They root for _us, _and show their support the only way they can, a traditional gesture that predates Panem, and will, hopefully, survive it.

We return it with our free hands, at least until a sudden attack jerks them down. Looks like Haymitch chose this very moment of tacit reverence to congratulate his newest tributes. He flings his arms around our shoulders, drawing us closer.

"I like these two!" he bellows into our ears, his voice carrying over the silent square. I stiffen in sudden panic. I don't see why he would say he likes us, because he hardly ever traded with us, but one never knows what goes through the man's head. We (and our families we'll be leaving behind!) certainly don't need him to tell the cameras some drunken exaggeration about us all being ol' buddies from the illegal black market. "They got…" he looks from Gale to me, as if requesting our help finding the right word. _What do we have?_ When he turns to me, I'm surprised to note a conspicuous _lack_ of alcohol smell on his breath. Is he just faking it?

"… spunk!" he decides, keeping the drunken accent. "They got some spunk!"

He releases us, staggering towards the cameras. "More than you!"

Haymitch points straight at the lenses. "More than you!" he repeats and falls of the stage with (fake?)-drunken glee.

What does he mean? The Capitol? Was he deliberately mocking them?

I glance uneasily at Gale. He smirks and squeezes my hand. Are _we_ mocking them?

They wanted to take Prim from me. I'd like to do more than mock them. I'd like to make sure they won't be able to repeat the offense.

The audience murmurs, hands still in the air. Guns click menacingly all around.

The crowd goes silent. What is disapproval in the face of death?

After the restoration of order, the Mayor mechanically reads the Treaty of Treason, but somewhere deep inside, I don't feel _entirely_ betrayed, not even after the cruel joke the odds have just played on us. We are on our way to almost-certain death.

But we are together.

Will we be strong enough for victory?

* * *

><p><strong>AN no 2:**

Whoops, what do we have here? A Gale in the Games story! I had to do it, at least once. I have no regrets, at least not yet, but I have all sorts of twists in store. Please review and tell me what d'you think about it so far. :)


	4. The Departure

**A/N:** Thank you for sticking with me and for all the wonderfully abundant and positive feedback!

This chapter might be a bit filler-ish, but it contains some important little hints about the background of this AU ;)

Opening quote by Aleister Crowley.

* * *

><p><strong>Love, Thorns and Fire<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>IV.<strong>

**The Departure**

"_The essence of independence has been to think and act according to standards from within, not without."_

* * *

><p>The Peacekeepers escort me to the Justice Building and into a room where I can spend the hour allotted for farewells with family and friends.<p>

Of course, my mother and sister are the first to burst through the door. Prim careens straight towards me, throwing her arms around my waist and holding on with surprising strength. "Katniss, you shouldn't have…" she sobs into my dress, her tears soaking the fabric.

"You know I had to." My voice all but breaks. "I couldn't let them take you. You know I'll do anything to protect you." I lift my head from her hair and one arm from around her shoulders, beckoning mom closer. She complies at once. She's been looking at us with a dejected and strangely _guilty_ expression that chilled me to the bone, but her embrace is strong and warm now. "Mom will take care of you here. You'll manage." I pull away, keeping my hand on Prim's shoulder and staring hard into mother's eyes. "Promise you won't leave her," I say forcefully and add a quick list of instructions what to do. "You'll have to take care of everything now." She nods with a reassuring hint of resigned determination. I have to believe she means it. I have no other certainty left.

"Take this, Katniss" says Prim, offering me the pin. "For good luck."

"Fat lot of luck it brought _you_!" I snap. Even though I'd already volunteered, the memory of the Peacekeepers ushering her to her so-possible death – the vivid reminder of how easily can the Capitol take _everything _from us - makes my blood boil with anger. She blinks in surprise. Guilt immediately washes over me and I clasp her back in my arms. "I'm sorry, Little Duck. But you keep it. Sell it, and it will help you survive for… quite a long time."

"Katniss, I…"

Shaking my head, I take her hand and gently close her fingers around the precious gold. "Keep it. You'll survive."

Mother glances about the room, as if the very walls could see us and bites her lip uneasily.

Prim nods, pressing her clenched fist close to her heart. "We'll survive."

_You have to; I just regret I can't go to greater lengths to assure it. _

I reached my limit here and now. I don't like the idea and a little tremor courses through my body.

"I love you," I blurt impulsively, first looking at Prim and then right into mother's eyes. "Both." I add, just to make sure the message gets across. When mom mouths the words back, _know_ I do and a void that's been in my chest for years seems to heal a little. Healing just before going off to almost certain death might be pointless, but still, it feels good. "Be strong for me."

Mother nods with surprising resolve. "We believe in you, Katniss."

Prim smiles with ethereal hope. "We love you. Do your best for us. And for yourself."

"I promise." That much I _can_ promise. They didn't ask me to come back, because they knew I wouldn't be able to promise that.

I clasp them both to me and hold on until the Peacekeepers rip them away.

* * *

><p>The Hawthornes are next. Already devastated after saying goodbye to Gale.<p>

Rory and Vick stride in with heroic facades brittle and translucent like glass. Posy ambles after them with tears streaming down her cheeks – because everyone else is upset and _Gale is going away_. Hazelle follows after them. Unlike my mother, who seemed strangely unsurprised, I can practically see the shock permeating her, sinking it's cold claws deeper and deeper. Having said the goodbye she presumes to be the last words she's ever to exchange with her son, she's closer to breaking than I've ever seen her, but holds herself together with stoic strength. Because breaking is _unthinkable _now.

I have no idea what to tell her. Encouragement? Consolation? What words can I say to the woman who's been more of a mother to me in than my own in the past four years? What can I say to the mother of my lover who is going to the Arena with me? None I can think of. Suddenly, I wonder what Gale told her. I can be sure of one thing only – he _didn't_ promise to come back.

Not trusting myself to speak, I step forward on impulse and hug her more tightly than ever, as if I could hold her together and share some of my hardly-existent strength.

"Please make it count," she whispers. Every syllable sticks in my heart like a thorn.

"We are a team," I whisper back and pull slightly away to look into her eyes – that remind me so much of Gale's – trying to say more than words ever could. She must know we won't turn against each other, no matter how much the Capitol wants us to. I refuse to think about what can that mean in the long run. I simply can't bring myself to.

"You gonna go with Gale?" squeals Posy, a smile suddenly illuminating her tearstained face like an unexpected sunray breaking through thunderclouds. She seems to have put one and one together. "He likes going places with you!"

And she obviously thinks it's good news. I don't have the heart to tell her how terribly mistaken she is.

"But come back soon!" she adds, lips a-quiver again. "We miss you when you gone too much!"

My knees almost give way, and I mask the treacherous weakness by crouching down to her level. Clasping her in my arms, I struggle to calm my erratic breathing and to stop my own lips to stop trembling. "We will, Posy. One way or another."

"Wish you could both come back the better way," says Vick wistfully and joins us in a brief group hug.

"Me too," I say.

Rory ambles to me last when his younger siblings release me, hiding sorrow behind awkwardness. "You'll give 'em a good show, won't you?" says with a valiant, yet miserably failed attempt at a grin.

I return the grimace. "Of course we will. Take care of everyone for us, Rory."

He nods earnestly and my heart all but breaks. He is as old as I was when my father died. I know best that the mantle of such responsibility is not for him to bear – and he fortunately wouldn't have to bear it alone, and not more than metaphorically – but he seems to accept it along with my embrace like a protective blanket.

_Purpose_, I think. Purpose can keep people going. How long can it keep me going? How long can it keep _us_ going - Gale and me – in the arena? And to what end? I don't want to think about _that_.

I pat Rory's back awkwardly and straighten to see my second family together one more time, blinking back the tears I can't shed.

_Gale is coming with me_.

Now, after parting with mom and Prim and face to face with the grief of Gale's mother and siblings, the idea seems incomparably more horrible than when we presented a strong and united front on the podium. We have to leave behind everyone we'd struggled to protect for years… and we _shouldn't_ even protect each other, though that's already become a second nature for us.

There is no way around it, and I wish we could make one. Even if it wasn't for our own survival, then at least to assure the safety of both our families.

Preferably for longer than one year.

* * *

><p>After the Hawthornes leave, Madge rushes in. I'm little surprised that she came to see me, and very surprised that she brought back the pin I'd refused to take from Prim. Her red-rimmed eyes glint almost feverishly in her deathly pale face, but when she speaks; her voice is all business with an odd hint of authority.<p>

"They let you take one thing from your district to the Arena, Katniss. Why don't you take this?"

"I…" I begin to protest, but she's already moving to fasten the pin on my dress.

I seize her hands in mine, forcibly holding them away from me. "No, Madge I can't. If you really want to give it away, please give it to Prim. She could sell it and-"

Madge shakes her head. "Katniss, nobody here could or _would_ buy it from her. Please take it. It would suit you wonderfully."

I look down. The pin must have pricked me during our brief struggle, because a tiny bloodstain blossoms on the sky-blue fabric of my dress.

Madge follows my gaze. "Oh, Katniss, I'm so sorry," she all but exclaims at the sight. "See, I'll cover it for you."

She pins the brooch over the stain, very careful not to hurt me again. I sigh in defeat… well, if she insists so much… I might as well take it. I have an assurance to ask in return, anyway. It's preposterous to accept one kindness on the condition of another, but with Prim's welfare at stake, I have no thoughts to waste on pride and propriety. I squeeze her arms tightly, holding her like a lifeline and stare hard into her hooded but bright blue eyes. Madge could actually _afford_ the help I need.

"Madge, don't let them starve. Please."

"Of course I won't," she nods earnestly. "We'll all make sure both your families get by just fine." _We? Who does she mean?_ Her voice falters a little, but not for long enough to give me a chance to voice the questions. "For as long as necessary. I promise. Don't worry, everything at home will be alright. You focus on what lies ahead. Our hopes go with you." I'm already confused and she bites her lip as if she wanted to elaborate. The door is already opening, though, so she settles for a brief, but firm hug and her lips brush against my cheek.

"Stay true to yourselves. That's how you win," she breathes into my ear before pulling away.

The Peacekeeper that comes to get her - Darius – gives me an uncharacteristically sad smile. He politely ushers Madge outside before I can ask her to clarify, so I just follow her retreating form with a bewildered gaze.

When the door closes, I take a better look at the pin. Its gold shines against the backdrop of my blue dress like midsummer sun high in the sky.

The bird is a mockingjay. In the eyes of the Capitol, an abomination that shouldn't exist, because it evolved from mutts that have been released into the wild to perish after they'd failed their specially designed purpose. Is that why she wanted me to take it?

Am I supposed to wear a mocking-jay to mock our oppressors?

* * *

><p>I don't expect another visitor, but the door opens once more to admit Peeta Mellark.<p>

"Hello, Katniss."

I stare at him, surprised. What is he doing here?

"Hey," I say uncertainly.

He steps closer, holding something small in the palm of his hand and infinity of sorrow in his larkspur-blue eyes.

"I came to see you. And to give you something." He hands me a cookie wrapped in transparent foil. A small round biscuit adorned with a sugar dandelion.

"What? Why? A dandelion?" I stutter. _Again?_ I don't say aloud.

The frosted flower stirs a memory from the darkest time in my life, few months after my father's death, when Prim's and mother's and my own survival hung on a single thread and Peeta helped me strengthen it. I was out of food, out of money, out of luck, desperate enough to dig through the merchants' trash. When I tried my luck behind the bakery, Mrs. Mellark chased me away, but I lingered, at least to inhale the aroma of life. A while later, Peeta appeared with a burned loaf of bread and a bruise to pay for it, and contrary to the shouted orders of his mother, threw the precious sustenance to _me_.

"It's a tradition," he explains, oblivious of my quiet reminiscing. "We do it every year, ever since I can remember. Well, usually my father does, but I asked to see you. I hope it's okay."

I tear myself out of my thoughts and nod briefly. Maybe he doesn't even remember. But I do. "It's not the first time you're giving me something. You gave me a loaf of bread. Years ago. The day after, I saw you at school. And I looked away, because I was too embarrassed to say anything. Then I saw a…" I gesticulate with the cookie. "A dandelion. It gave me hope." It reminded me that I wasn't doomed. Helped me find strength to survive. Without it, I wouldn't've gone to the forest. I wouldn't have saved Prim from starvation. I wouldn't've met Gale. I wouldn't be here. "Maybe you don't even remember," I add to finish my tirade, already completely embarrassed.

"I do remember," he assures me, obviously pleased that I remember it too.

"Why did you do it?" I ask. Perhaps in impolite curiosity, but I've wondered about it, especially in the months following the incident. The memories dwindled as time progressed, but could never entirely forget it.

The corners of his mouth lift in a smile, a little wistful and a little nostalgic. Then he shrugs and shakes his head a little as if to clear it of an old memory. "How could I not? Sometimes you have to break the rules to do the right thing."

I raise my eyebrows. "So you don't _traditionally_ give bread to starving kids loitering around your backyard?"

"No," he says with a light chuckle. "I wish we could afford it, though. That opportunity was… one of a kind. Hardly anything slips past my mom, you know."

I think of the bruises he sported the day after. _Nothing_ is more likely. "I remember your mom hit you. Didn't you regret it?"

"Well, she tried to make me regret it," he shrugs, "but I never did. An act of kindness is never wasted."

True. That one definitely wasn't. It was the most surprising and significant one I've received in my life. And I never even thanked him properly and was all too keen to blame it on the lack of a convenient opportunity. And when I no longer tended to catch his eyes following at school, I assumed he'd forgotten and decided not to bring it up. Until few minutes ago. _Because last opportunities shouldn't be wasted, should they?_

I nod awkwardly. I should clean my slate a little, before I leave… to die. I try to shake the thought out, but it sticks stubbornly in my brain like an arrow shot through the eye. _Die_. "Thank you, Peeta. It's not like I could ever repay you, and it's way too late now, but… thank you."

Peeta smiles with an odd mix of serenity and grief. "It's never too late, Katniss. And you shouldn't be the one talking about unrepayable kindness, when you just…" His voice falters, but I know what he means.

"But she's my sister," I reason. IS. And will be. I did my very best to assure that.

"Yes, she is," he agrees. "But you know as well as I do that people hardly ever volunteer for their siblings. So even though _you_ aren't _my_ sister, I have the honor of having helped the bravest sister in Panem. Good luck to you, Katniss."

He opens his arms tentatively and I hesitate for a beat. Touching a boy I hardly know pretty much goes against all my rules, but in this very moment it seems like a right thing to do. When I step forward and let him embrace me, it doesn't feel as awkward as I feared. The pure friendship and kindness of the gesture saturates me with warmth and hope. Reminds me how much I don't want to be doomed.

"Remember, everything you do matters. In every circumstances," he says as we pull away.

I nod and wish my volunteering for Prim wouldn't be the last meaningful action I've ever taken.

* * *

><p>My last hour is up.<p>

I hardly catch a glimpse of Gale before they lock us in separate cars for the short ride to the train station. The mask of stoic strength he wore at the podium is back on, and I do my best to emulate it. We'll need every ounce of confidence we can possibly muster, both outward and inward.

After opening the door for me when we get there, Darius takes my arm and leans close to my ear for a second. "Some of us are on your side," he whispers and releases me into the flock of photographers. Before I can mull over the strange statement - _what's with everyone today?_ – Gale puts an arm around my shoulders and glowers after the retreating form of the young Peacekeeper we've considered a friend for a long time. Darius's light-hearted attempts to flirt with me at the Hob never amused him, though he usually restricted his misguided efforts to 'defend' me to amiable wisecracks. But the current hostility would be perfectly understandable – the shock of our position was bound to make Gale more volatile and protective than normal. Especially against someone wearing insignia of the regime, friend or not.

Now Gale's habitual, but exacerbated reaction holds different significance, though. He just demonstrated his protective, even _possessive_, attitude towards a fellow tribute in front of the cameras. We must have already drawn the attention of the audience by our refusal to acknowledge each other as enemies, and by the reaction we elicited from the people of the district: very blatant unwillingness to submit us as tributes. Now Gale stands beside me again, strong and beautiful, and the fierce determination to protect me from all threats real or imagined, to fight against the very essence of the Games, flares clear and unmistakable in his stormy eyes. It's inherently dangerous enough to be counterproductive, but I can't bring myself to shy away, not with Gale's presence and affinity boosting my confidence. I let my arm snake around his waist, but stand straight and hold my chin high as the cameras flash greedily around us.

Maybe we could do something significant together. We are a team of hunters after all.

They have us trapped, but if they want to eat us, we'll do our best to make them choke.

* * *

><p>Effie escorts me to my assigned room and I cringe as I take in all the plush and wasteful comfort. The artificial opulence serves only to make me sick, I don't even find it in myself to feel impressed. I cringe at the notion that the Capitol can afford to dedicate so many resources just to flaunt its wealth and power. In front of youngsters doomed to death, no less.<p>

Turning my back on the room, I press my face against the cool window-pane and watch the green smear of _our_ woods rushing by. To be there now… that would be luxury the Capitol can never offer or compare with. But that paradise is lost now. _What would have to happen for us to return there?_

Few moments after the echoes of Effie's noisy heels die in the corridor, my door opens again. No other sound reaches my ears, but I can sense Gale's presence right away.

I turn around just before he reaches me and collapse into his arms.

"I'd have done anything to bring her home," he whispers into my hair, his voice brittle like glass. I know that, but I don't even want to imagine the situation. If Prim and Gale, the two people I love most in this world, went to the Games together and left me with the knowledge that only _one_ of them has a chance of return… I don't think my sanity would have survived it intact. Suddenly, I think of Prim back home and try to convince myself the situation I left her in is different. But even if it wasn't… I can't take my action back now. No use dwelling on it. I have to focus on what lies ahead.

"I know. But you know I couldn't have let her go," I choke out and feel Gale nod against my head. I hold onto him so tightly my arms ache. I don't want to let him go either. The world is speeding under our feet as the train carries us to damnation, but I don't feel entirely lost, not while I still have him.

Can I even say that?

Could I claim that we belong to each other, just because we've chosen it?

For all intents and purposes, we've always belonged to the Capitol, however hard we tried to deny and fight the notion. But now we'd been claimed for real.

We are Tributes now. Sacrificial toys.

I hate it. Gale is _mine_ and I don't want _them_ to have him, and his fierce hold tells me he feels the same about me.

"And I'll make sure you come back. Even if I had to-" Gale begins in a strained whisper.

A ring of thorns seems to constrict around my heart and every new letter he pronounces punctures the membrane and draws blood, bleeding me from inside out.

I don't doubt his words in the slightest. And I can't allow them to come true.

"Shh," I hiss, not giving him a chance to finish. "Don't you dare to say that aloud. I'll look out for you, you'll look out for me. Like always. And no bailing out." _Stay yourselves_, Madge said. And that's _us_. "Deal?"

Gale had flinched slightly at the _bailing out_, and thousand invisible emotions bleed through his eyes as he studies my face. "Deal," he sighs finally. He knows there's no sense in arguing about it _now_. But the intensity of his gaze is so unnerving and heartbreaking I'm almost relieved when he closes his eyes and leans down to kiss me. Deal's sealed.

He must also know that the idea of winning at the price of his death would hurt me just as deeply as the inverse option would hurt him. Even if one of us survived, _we_ would die. And there are twenty-two other people, who want to, and who _should have the right to_ live just as much as we do.

We'll have to do our best.

Unfortunately, in these circumstances, I have no plausible idea what exactly _is_ the best. I can only hope we'll somehow figure it out together.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading – please review! <strong>


	5. The Queries

**A/N: **Thanks for the amazing & encouraging feedback and my apologies for the delay. A lot of things crossed my path and I had to take many a detour.

Opening quote by Samuel Johnson.

* * *

><p><strong>Love, Thorns and Fire<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>V.<strong>

**The Queries**

_"Actions are visible, though motives are secret."_

* * *

><p>I don't want to come up for breath. Maybe if I kissed Gale long enough, we'd just drop dead in one of the most pleasant ways possible and save ourselves a lot of suffering and deprive the Capitol of their annual sacrifice.<p>

Too bad it's imposible.

The natural instinct to live as long as possible kicks in sooner than later.

We break the kiss, but keep standing in a close embrace, foreheads pressed together, breathless lips sharing the charged air between our faces.

My own words echo in my spinning head.

_No bailing out_.

What would happen to our families if we didn't even emerge from the train?

And worse, what would happen to our families if neither of us emerged from the arena?

I shudder at the thought and Gale rubs my back in a vain attempt at comfort before lifting his head and pressing a kiss to my damp forehead. "We'll figure something out, Catnip," he whispers against my skin.

"Yeah," I agree without conviction and take a tiny step back, my palms still resting on his chest and pressing against him as if I didn't want to miss a single beat of his heart between now and the inevitable.

His eyes meet mine and I see my own thoughts reflected in them.

We are in this together, and we have to get as far as we possibly can. Every second counts, every breath is beyond precious.

Whatever happens, _we_ don't have that many left.

Then Gale's gaze trails to the pin on my dress, soon followed by his fingers that send a pleasant shiver over the bare skin along my neckline. He frowns confusedly as he lightly brushes the gold, his strong tanned hand in stark contrast with the filigree ornament on powdery blue fabric.

"Wasn't this what Prim-" he starts.

"Yeah," I cut across him, my voice crisp but very soft, only for him to hear. "She got it from Madge. She was at their place last night, with mom, who was helping Mrs. Mayor. I wanted Prim to keep it and sell it, but Madge persuaded me to take it as a district token. Said nobody would buy it anyway, and that she'd make sure our families survive. And that it would suit me or something."

Gale chuckles lightly. "It sure does." Then he shakes his head earnestly and leans closer. "Interesting," he mutters into my hair. "Because she gave me something too."

It's my turn to frown. "Why the hell would she give _you_ anything? You treated her like a jerk most of the time. At least as far as _I_ can remember," I add in a breathy whisper, unable to keep a tiny whiff of acid from my voice.

"That's what she said," he responds with a shrug and I can't help but snort with laughter. "Anyway, she made me take this as a token and told me not to flaunt it until instructed. Whatever she meant by that." He reaches into the front pocket of his shirt and I lean my forehead against his chest to have a furtive look. I don't know how should I feel about the revelation and it sticks like a lump in my throat. I find it hard to swallow. But then Gale pulls out a thin chain with an odd pendant. A rectangular piece of silvery metal with the carved image of an encircled bird in flight, the same one I have on my pin. My mouth falls slightly open and my thoughts immediately snap back from unfounded suspicions to our predicament.

"Weird," I say slowly.

"Yeah," Gale agrees, breathing right into my ear. "And suspicious. Even if we had quite a lot of slips – isn't it a weird coincidence that we're _both _going? Feels like more than just shitty luck. If someone blabbed, I figure they'd want to make example from us. Send us to the Hunger Games for providing the district with food, how savvy would that be?"

"Yeah." My mirthless laugh dies with a shudder. "But then, why would they reap Prim, not me?" I grit my teeth at the very thought. That was a far worse way to punish me. Unthinkable. Unbearable. Luckily, it was also one I could fight against…

"To make you volunteer? Whole new level," Gale confirms.

"I guess you're right," I concede heavily. "And then you, because nobody would wonder, with your 42 slips… and even if one of us…" I can't bring myself to finish the thought and press my body back against his. I feel Gale's muscles tense as he sighs in agreement, squeezing me as tightly as he can without actually hurting me.

"But since the Mayor's daughter went out of her way to give us something to take to the arena… and now you said Prim and your mom were there… it got me thinking. Maybe they are trying to pull something else, under the cover of that. Like you said, nobody would suspect if it's us going. They let us get away with everything for years and they know us, they must know we won't play by the Capitol's rules. And that everyone will see it," he whispers, the words so quiet, fast and frantic I'm hard pressed to make them out. That's my Gale, always dreaming of some kind of rebellion.

And I'm too prone to dream with him, but I usually prefer to stifle the urge and to keep him grounded.

I shrug as much as our tight embrace allows. "Maybe the Mayor knew, but couldn't really put a stop to it. Or just felt bad about it when it happened, and let Madge give us a nice farewell. If there was some plan, why wouldn't anyone tell us?"

Just as I voice the question, I remember Darius telling me, _some of us are on your side_ and Madge almost tearfully assuring me that our families at home will be alright and telling me to focus on what lies ahead. Could Gale possibly be right? Or is it too far-fetched, and we are only grasping at straws?

But he's already answering.

"Maybe they weren't sure enough and didn't want to risk it."

"Yeah, the Mayor risks enough as it is. Mom said his wife believed her doctor wanted to poison her. Maybe that's how they're holding him in check. I think that's why Madge was so out of it this morning, not because of the reaping. And she hardly even looked at us, as if she couldn't bring herself to. She normally isn't like that."

I feel Gale nod, his cheek brushing my temple. "Damn, that would figure. Looks like nobody has it too easy, huh? They'd have a reason to show 'em up as well. Just not directly, 'cause-" He suddenly sounds protective, as if the realization that nobody is safe from the Capitol just sunk in. About time.

"Yeah," I agree quickly. "But still, I talk to Madge in school and stuff. It's not like she couldn't tell me if there was something going on. And then there's Haymitch. If we were supposed to pull something off in the Games, he'd have to be involved. And we saw enough of him at the Hob and he never talked to us." Always overpaid generously on the rare instances when he did trade with us, and sometimes followed us with narrowed eyes at the Hob, but we never really talked. He generally kept on his own, and come to think of it, so did we. There's not exactly a history of cooperation between us. I don't see how are we going to change it in the following days, but we'll have to try. However unappealing the idea sounds, he will be our only real outside hope once we are thrown into the arena.

Gale suddenly snorts with laughter, muffled against my ear. "Sure. If Haymitch just walked up to us and told us we are both going to the Games next year, what would we do?"

My answering laugh ripples against his neck. It does sound ridiculous. "Right. Probably shoot him and bring him home for dinner."

"Guess moms wouldn't approve of the alcohol content," Gale counters.

"Oh yeah, the kids are enough of a handful when they're sober." I laugh loudly this time. The mental image suffices to make me forget where we are, if only for a moment. Gale obviously feels the same, because he shuts my laughter off by another kiss that feels almost as carefree as if we were free.

I respond instinctively and wrap myself around him, my arms around his neck; my body flush against his, taut and greedily straining for better access to his lips. One of his hands slides from my waist down my thigh, coaxing my leg up to cradle his hip. We manage to steal ourselves few seconds of desperate love and liquid fire before a series of sharp knocks on the door drowns out the rapid beating of our hearts and forcibly brings us to reality.

Startled, we disentangle ourselves. Gale's fingers momentarily catch in the fabric of my skirt they've been trying to creep under and make something fall out of my pocket. We jump apart just as the door swings open to reveal a disgruntled Effie Trinket.

"Oh, here you are, boy!" she huffs in that annoying accent. "I've been looking for you in your room, and…" she trails off as she takes in our flushed and disheveled appearances. There's a fleeting glimmer of something in her eyes, maybe pity, maybe recognition, but I can't tell for sure, because it vanishes with the next blink of her frighteningly long artificial lashes. Then she purses her lips, all proper disapproval. "Well, excuse me for interrupting. Please follow me to the dining car. I'd be obliged if you refrained from insulting your hosts and disgracing your district by… scandalous behavior."

She turns on her ridiculously high heels and clomps down the corridor

We exchange a smirk. The first option is pretty much what we plan on doing. And I seriously doubt our district would consider it a disgrace.

I just don't want to imagine what the cost will be. Smirk fading, I bow my head. _We_ are done for one way or another. If we misbehave, we only heighten the already tremendous odds we'll both die.

And what then?

My downcast eyes skim the disgustingly plush carpet and land on the tiny wrapped dandelion-cookie. So that's what's fallen from my pocket. A corner of my mouth inadvertently rises as I remember Peeta's words.

_Sometimes you have to break all rules to do the right thing_.

Gale and I have been doing that most of our lives, to save our families, to save ourselves, to defy the Capitol in secret. And we won't stop now.

Against better judgment, I suddenly feel a little less damned.

Whatever happens, perhaps we can at least make them see how wrong they are.

Even if we were to be beaten for it.

Gale caresses my downturned face with the backs of his fingers, and then gently lifts my chin up. "What you've got there?" he asks softly, his eyes still on the spot I'd been looking at moments ago.

I don't exactly know how to answer and stumble over the words. "Dandelion. From Peeta. You know, the baker's youngest." The finish was oddly shaky and I expect Gale to demand an explanation, but he doesn't. His pensive look only deepens.

"I got one from the old Mellark," he says instead.

He reaches into his pocket, showing me a cookie with a different flower – white one, with three pointed petals and a leaf resembling an arrowhead.

My eyes widen at the sight. "Katniss," I mutter.

_Did they know? How's that possible?_

Gale smiles slightly and leans in to give me a light kiss. "The sweetest flower of all," he mutters against my lips.

_Really_.

Without warning, I give him a sharp shove that catches him unawares and actually makes him stumble slightly backwards.

"And deadliest," he adds with a wry grimace.

The word makes me shiver and grit my teeth at the same time. The joke used to be funny back in our woods. But now that our survival will be forced to depend on killing other people…

Gale senses my discomfort and his eyes tell me an apology before his lips part to voice it.

"Catnip, I-"

I lightly lay my hand on his cheek and shush him by brushing my thumb against his lips. "I know."

He closes his eyes at the touch, leaning closer again, but at the very moment, we are reminded that there's no time for regrets. Effie must have realized we aren't following her and the impatient taps of her shoes head back to our room, echoing in the sudden silence.

Gale releases me and reluctantly turns towards the door.

"Let's just see what Haymitch has to say now," he says and extends his hand.

"Right," I concede.

Just before taking Gale's hand, I bend down to pick up the cookie and put it back in my dress-pocket. The little token of kindness from a virtual stranger makes my hope that our families at home will be alright a little more tangible. That our families wouldn't be lost without us.

And Gale's firm, warm, _living_ grip on my hand reassures me I'm not lost here, not alone in any sense of the word.

I find myself clinging to him tighter than ever before. It feels almost odd, because I can't shake the feeling we are being watched every step of the way, and I've never been inclined to public displays of affection. Unless we were at home or in our woods (that is, just as _home_), we stuck to the unspoken district rule not to flaunt what we have lest it be taken away. But now that whatever future we might have had is gone, I regret every moment I could have spent touching him and didn't.

So I don't let go, not even when we catch up with Effie and are rewarded by a disapproving glance over her shoulder.

"Nice of you to join me," she tuts and leads the way.

We exchange a look and then simultaneously grimace at her back.

Effie makes a show of not looking at us once we get seated and pull our chairs together to a distance we consider natural and comfortable – that is, close enough to touch, and Haymitch doesn't show for dinner at all, but we are preoccupied enough as it is.

At home, a significant part of our time and effort used to be dedicated to hunting and scavenging whatever nourishment we could, to feed our families, to trade for other things, and in the best of circumstances, to share with people in dire need of help.

Here, food is brought right in front of us by servants, in quality we've never seen before and quantity that could feed our families for days. Perhaps keep them going for weeks if we found a buyer for the fancy dishes.

Gale glares sullenly into a fragrant bowl of thick red soup and grits his teeth audibly.

"Looks like they take good care of their tributes," he mutters under his breath, leaning close to my ear so that we won't be overheard. "Fucking nice of them to make sure we don't starve before they get to kill us."

Effie reprimands us with another disapproving noise. Whispering probably counts as scandalous behavior as well. And she doesn't even know what he said…

I snort. Her pointless indignation coupled with the notion that they are feeding us this well right before sending us to the Hunger Games is ludicrous. Almost as if they wanted us to be grateful for what they are giving us… before they take everything we are in 'return'.

"How could we even eat it, when …" my voice trails off.

Gale frowns and shrugs. "We'd be wasting resources if we didn't, Catnip. Gotta keep our strength when we want to show them up."

I know he doesn't mean only the other tributes, so I nod to concede he has a point.

The spoon feels heavy in my hand, after all it's probably silver, and the saliva that floods my mouth when I fill the utensil and bring it under my nose feels almost humiliating. But I swallow the delicious carroty concoction along with a tiny bit of unnecessary pride.

Right now, I'd much rather be "poaching off the Capitol's lands", but since that's been made impossible, we might as well try to make a dent elsewhere. As more courses make their silent way to our table, I have to admit the process is quite pleasant, provided that I suppress the futile nagging thought that we are enjoying goods all but stolen from people in the districts.

We wouldn't help anyone by starving ourselves now.

Gale seems to agree and we both do quite a remarkable job of utilizing the resources, keeping our mouths too full to comment, or to answer Effie's recommendations to save space for more and better that's surely coming.

Only when the last course – a magnificent chocolate cake – arrives, Gale frowns again and swears under his breath.

I turn towards him and raise my eyebrows slightly.

"I almost said 'Wish the kids could have it'," Gale mutters bitterly in response to my silent and unnecessary question. Of course we are thinking about the same thing, and the reminder of everyone we'd left behind fills me with pain and worry. Our siblings would never experience a feast like this… unless they were reaped. They aren't starving now, we'd stored enough supplies and saved enough money to last for a while, and I trust Madge and Peeta to hold onto their promises, but still… the thought of our families grieving our absence while we sit here enjoying more food than they've ever seen in one place makes my unprecedentedly full stomach twist.

Suddenly, I remember the meal we _all _shared together exactly a year before, not this luxurious, but also not to be paid for by our own blood, and shut my eyes tightly.

I can see everyone in the privacy of my mind, the rushing of blood in my ears as I hold my breath sounds almost like carefree laughter and the stars that erupt behind my scrunched lids are blue and golden and bright… like Prim.

Prim.

She's safe.

I'm here instead of her, and that's _right_.

But I'll most probably never see her happy again. I'll never see her sad either. Never.

I take a deep breath, willing it not to shake.

_Don't look back. Concentrate on what lies ahead_. _You promised her to do your best_.

I wish it worked.

A gentle touch of rough fingertips slowly coaxes me to relax and open my eyes. I lean into Gale's palm as he caresses me and try to draw strength only his companionship can give me.

"It's okay," he whispers, lips almost touching my hair. "You'll see-"

I open my mouth to speak, but before I can remind him that things can't turn out okay for us, another voice speaks over him, the chipper tone grating on my nerves.

"Can't even look at more food? I kept telling you to save room to enjoy everything you are so generously offered." Her smile looks sweeter than the cake, and faker than the sparkling white teeth she bares at us.

We both turn towards her. I stare at her in consternated disbelief and can practically feel the indignation radiating from Gale. Yeah, not enjoying the Capitol's hospitality properly is exactly what we are worried about.

"Well, at least you two had halfway decent table manners," she continues obliviously. "Unlike those two last year, you actually ate like people."

My heart clenches at the memory of the last year's tributes, skinny Seam kids younger than me, who'd probably never gotten as much food as _people_ would need, not a single day of their lives.

Gale looks about to jump around the table and attack her, but I pat his thigh under the table to calm him. Better fight her at her own terms. I force myself to speak instead. "Maybe because we _are_ people, Effie," I remind her through gritted teeth. "Perhaps not like you, because trust me, we wouldn't want to be, but we are."

Gale furtively squeezes my hand in appreciation and exhales the breath he must have been holding.

For a moment, Effie chews at her lip in a most unmannerly manner, as if unsure how to respond to the obvious truth she's probably striving not to acknowledge. Her eyes dart around until they fix on a clock hanging on the wall. Then she incinerates her own doubt in a bright artificial smile.

"Of course you are," she simpers. "And you are almost late again. The reaping recapitulation is about to start. C'mon, c'mon, time to see the competition."

As she ushers us to another compartment with a huge television, I think that I may have overestimated her humanity after all.

But her morbid, sugar-coated excitement is easily forgotten as we settle in front of the screen to watch what the odds have dealt us.

The other tributes _are_ people.

Now each of our opponents has a name and a face, even though they fade into a blur with only few exceptions, some frightening, some heartwrenching.

The tributes have never seemed so real to me. Even out classmates somehow seemed to fade into phantoms once they appeared on the screen, but these kids are real. Alive. And we'll be supposed to be fighting them to death in a week.

The thought makes me sick and I tighten my grip Gale's hand, and not only in fear.

Many of them look weaker than us. But could I kill any of them in order to come home to Prim? Would I be able to face her after?

Hoping to outlast everyone else feels somehow even worse. It's as if I wanted them to die for me in more ways than one, to die or just to disappear out of my way so that I could emerge from the Arena alive _and_ clean-handed. Besides, the Capitol audience does not take well to campers and the Gamemakers have wicked ways of forcing tributes to confrontation.

I don't want _anyone_ to die.

I glance at Gale, only to see he's already looking at me.

First and foremost, I don't want _him_ to die. I tighten my grip on his hand, and watch my knuckles turn white.

If… _when_… someone tries to kill him… Would I hesitate to kill them before they reach him?

I believe I wouldn't hesitate at all, however terrible the notion is. Whtever half-formed noble thoughts I had before, I realize the primal urge to survive and to protect him at all costs would prevail.

"You know I'd kill and die to save you. To make you win. To go home," Gale says, echoing my thoughts. His words ring hollow and true on the steely determination in his eyes. I don't doubt them for a second. Knowing him, he would be capable of eliminating everyone else and then knocking me out and killing himself while I couldn't prevent him from doing it.

"I know," I concede and tighten my grip on his hand. "But you wouldn't save me that way. It wouldn't be victory." I could never live with that, and he knows me well enough to figure as much. And I wouldn't save him if I did the same for him, not _really_.

Gale bows his head, pressing his forehead against mine. "Yeah."

His eyes are closed, but I don't need to look into them to know what he's thinking.

_You know I'd kill and die to save you._

That's what either of us_ could _do_.  
><em>

My head spins and I don't know what's wrong and what's right anymore. All I know is it can't be enough.

* * *

><p><strong>AN no2:**

Thank you so much for reading, please review & tell me if I'm not losing my touch way too badly. I'll try to keep closer to the track from now on.


	6. The Mentor

**A/N:** Many thanks to everyone who is still sticking with me and interested in the story, and my profound apologies for my unannounced hiatus. I should be back on my slow little bandwagon from now on. This chapter is kinda short, because my eternal chapter-length/chapter-division issues, but I have drafts left over that should be ready soon :)

Opening quote from Principia Discordia.

* * *

><p><strong>Love, Thorns and Fire<strong>

**VI.**

**The Mentor**

"_Bullshit makes flowers grow, and that's beautiful."_

* * *

><p>Effie excuses herself right after the formalities concluding the official recap, but Gale and I let her chipper words and clicking heels fade into silence without a response. We remain on the couch, huddled close and slowly letting the heavy reality of our situation sink in. In a week's time, we'll be either murderers or dead, and at least one of us will eventually have to be both.<p>

We've gone through a lot together, always managing to make the best out of any circumstances, but now only bad and worse choices seem to await us. This is a fight we'd never pick, but now that we've been picked for it… whatever happens, we can't give up.

The door suddenly flies open again and we both flinch, our foreheads bumping together. The distraction is welcome, though, our shared thoughts have been everything but pleasant, and the newcomer might help us make some sense out of them.

Haymitch.

Our mentor, who was probably supposed to have watched the recap with us in order to help us assess the competition, and who'd obviously been otherwise occupied. All clues point to the broached bottle in his hand.

He pushes at the plush armchair Effie had vacated a while ago, sliding it halfway around a small table and spinning it to face us. He plops down and nods at us, but proceeds to take a swig from the bottle and recline against the headrest, his stare focused somewhere above and beyond us.

After the odd attention at the reaping, his utter disinterest sends all hope plummeting again. We are in for the Hunger Games with only their indifferent past victim to help us. That's it. If there was anything outside the norm going on, he might as well have already began telling us. Haymitch offers nothing, though, not even what I imagine should be the norm. Mentors are supposed to give advice to their tributes after all.

Several moments pass in tense silence before Gale decides to break it.

"So, you have any advice for us?" he says gruffly, not bothering to keep the irritation from his voice.

Haymitch slowly lowers the bottle he'd just raised to his lips a slams it on the table. "Here's some advice, kids," he says with brazenly false cheer. "Stay alive." One corner of his mouth twists into a smirk as he takes in our reflexive scowls.

"That's it?" I snap, before Gale reacts with something worse.

"Why, you wanted to do something else, Sweetheart?" he reiterates.

I grit my teeth. "Wanted to hear something that could really help, you know," I explain as if he needed it. After an almost quarter of century of mentoring, one would think he'd already managed to get the hang of it, but then again, the quick deaths of our past tributes would prove otherwise. I catch Gale's suspicious glare from the corner of my eye and decide I wouldn't want to be on its receiving end, but Haymitch doesn't seem to notice at all.

"You two need _me_ to tell you how to survive?" he says with a curt laugh. "Thought you were pros."

Sure, we've been succeeding until now, and Haymitch knew well enough about our illegal ways to get sustenance, but we've never been in the arena, and I have no patience for his attempts to play dumb.

Apparently, neither does Gale. "Are they really paying you for this shit?" he snarls.

I lightly lay my hand on his, an ingrained calming reflex, though I don't have much composure to share right now.

Haymitch tenses and leans forward, his knuckles go white as he grips the bottle and the sharp lines around his mouth deepen. "It's me who is still paying," he says, softer than anything before, his lips barely moving. Then he leans back for a very long swig. The infuriating expression already back on his face as he lowers the bottle and swirls the clear liquid inside. "But finding good spirits makes it worth it."

Well, judging by the quality of food, I guess the Capitol alcohol isn't lacking either. "So you prefer the bottle to your tributes, right?"

Haymitch shrugs my observation off. "Would last longer than most of you if I let it. And wouldn't rot so fast once it's empty."

I want to scream, but find myself laughing at the ugly truth, a compulsive, mirthless, choking laugh.

Gale joins in, just because the alternative is either being scared out of our minds, or perhaps trying to beat our mentor up, but we can't afford either. If we incapacitated him even more than he routinely chooses to incapacitate himself, we'd be screwed for real. "So much for liking us, huh?"

"Don't get your hopes up, boy, it was all for the cameras," reiterates Haymitch. "You're cute and all, but the bottle is more like my type. But if you left me alone with your girlfriend for a while, I might reconsider-"

The taunt vanishes in scratching noise as Gale kicks the table aside, and I all but jump into his lap to prevent him from attacking Haymitch. No, we _really_ can't afford that.

Haymitch squints at me and back at the bottle. "Rather not. This one wouldn't cost my head, huh?" He shakes his head. "Just hope your dedication lasts. C'mon, let's calm down and have a drink."

"Right, 'cause that's gonna fucking help," Gale says through gritted teeth. He makes no attempt to dislodge me from his side and wraps a strong possessive-protective arm around me instead, but I feel his body is still as tense as one of his snares, a coil of wire ready to snap.

Haymitch grins. "I've survived on it for twenty four years. Can you beat that, kid?"

"If you just want to bullshit us-"

"Trust your mentor. If you want me to give you advice, you should fucking listen." Haymitch stands up and fetches two small glasses from a refreshment table in the corner.

"C'mon kids, you don't just say no to Chaff's finest everclear. He'd be heartbroken," he says, and pours us two shots.

Gale and I exchange a glance. Oh well, maybe Haymitch is more amenable to drinking buddies. What doesn't kill us…

Cautiously taking the offering from his hand, I bring the glass to my nose and sniff, and notice Gale doing the same. We both aren't really used to drinking – we've never been ones to waste resources on something that might mess with our aim the next morning, and we'd found a much better method of mutual intoxication anyway.

Haymitch lifts the bottle, not even bothering with a glass for himself. "May the odds…"

We raise the glasses. "… be ever in our favor," we finish in defiant unison.

Haymitch's smirk falls just for a moment, revealing a mix of tension and regret, and he nods sagely just before lifting the bottle to his mouth.

We imitate the movement, Gale bravely downs the shot and almost succeeds in stifling a cough, but I start sputtering uncontrollably halfway through. Whatever it is, it's a lot stronger than the samples Ripper sometimes let us taste at the Hob to help us warm up in winter. This doesn't warm or taste or anything, just _burns_, cauterizing me from inside out.

"Lightweights," scoffs Haymitch.

He circles the couch and slaps both our backs loudly, eliciting an indignant "What the hell?!" from Gale and more uncontrollable coughing from me.

"Here's your advice, kids," he growl-whispers into the noise, leaning between us. "They are watching." Slap. "They are listening." Slap. I cough some more, it's not like I had to force myself, and Gale takes the hint and pretends to do the same. "To all of us." Slap. "You're here to show 'em what they don't wanna see." Slap. "For now, just stick together." Slap. He pulls back a little, regarding us both at once. I catch Gale's stare that manages to convey equal amounts of incredulity and satisfaction, and then shift my eyes back to Haymitch. "You'd do that anyway, right?"

One more slap, and a perplexed nod from both of us.

"Fine." Haymitch squeezes both our shoulders for a split-second and straightens up. "See, your mentor knows what's good for ya. In case you somehow managed to win, you better get used to it," he says loudly, gesturing with the bottle, his usual mien back in place. He walks back to his armchair, kicking the table back into place on his way and propping his feet up on the table.

So Gale was right after all. We are become pieces in more than one game, so far with little reassurance the second is any better. I can't decide if I'm relieved or livid. Both feelings seem to swirl in the burning mouthful I just drank, dissolving along with the rest of my thoughts, so I settle for watching Gale's reaction instead.

He's frowning darkly, a tense line perpendicular to his lips seems to cut deep into his cheek. "That's all you're gonna tell us?" he says finally, in a voice he's struggling to keep level. I can tell he's trying his best to check his temper and avoid doing anything inadvertently suspicious.

"Business tomorrow," says Haymitch dismissively. "Now off to bed with you two."

Every syllable seems to collide sharply with my skull, like a pebble cast against a window. If he's really not planning on telling us anything right now, we might as well go. I get up from the couch to speed up the process, and immediately sway in place. Gale jumps to support me at once, and I let myself wilt against his side. He stands rigidly for a moment, presumably locked in a glaring match with Haymitch, but our mentor ventures no more information.

"Hey, sleep's good when you're sure you're gonna wake up. Wish someone had told me back when it mattered," he says. I can hear Gale grit his teeth. "There's still plenty of time for everything, kids," Haymitch adds in a more conciliatory tone. "Shoo."

I lightly tug at Gale's shirt, willing him to go, and he complies reluctantly. "You'd better have something good to tell us," he throws over his shoulder. Ambiguous enough, I guess.

His only answer is a thud of glass against the table.


	7. The Confirmation

**A/N:** O hai, new chapter. Long again, and should be more exciting than the last ;) Thank you for sticking with me, and have fun ;)

Opening quote by J. P. Sartre.

* * *

><p><strong>Love, Thorns and Fire<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>VII.<strong>

**The Confirmation**

_"__I think of death only with tranquility, as an end. I refuse to let death hamper life. Death must enter life only to define it."_

* * *

><p>"See?" Gale hisses into my ear as he leads me along the corridor to our rooms, arm firmly wrapped around my waist.<p>

"Yeah, guess you were right," I concede.

"But why the hell he didn't tell us anything?" says Gale, his voice rising. He must mean _before_, but still, he probably doesn't sound like the first and only tribute complaining about Haymitch's attitude to duty.

I lay my hand on his chest in an attempt to calm him, my fingers stumbling across the mysterious pendant from Madge hidden in his pocket. "Probably couldn't fit it into his _drinking_ schedule," I remark, lightly pressing against the token.

Gale lays his hand over mine, but grits his teeth audibly. "Maybe. But no way I'm letting you get hurt just because-"

"I know you won't," I sigh. My head is spinning _now_, I can't let him go off on a rant anyway, and it wouldn't make sense before we know what exactly we're in for.

The door to my room is first in line, and I tug it open, dragging Gale along by the hand. "Stay with me to make sure?"

After all, Haymitch told us to stick together, and with that I can wholeheartedly agree.

Gale squeezes my hand. "Sure," he echoes.

* * *

><p>The bed I'd hardly paid attention to before is large enough to fit Gale's whole family, plush and pristine-clean. Luxurious. The sight fills me with grating unease, though. It can't possibly be as old as the Hunger Games, and I wonder how many tributes have already slept there on their journey without a return. Gale must be thinking along the same lines and his grip on my hand tightens almost to the point of pain. A wave of terribly selfish relief rushes over me at the realization that I have him to share it with, that I won't be alone amid the ghosts I might soon join.<p>

Reluctantly letting go of Gale's hand, I make a quick trip to the bathroom and give him a groggy half-smile as we pass each other on my way back. Then I lower myself onto the bed, kick off my shoes and sink into the treacherous comfort without as much as bothering to remove my clothes. My brain seems to be swimming in my tired head and I finally allow long-suppressed fatigue to take hold of my body. After all, we haven't given each other that much sleep last night, and both days have been draining for a variety of sweet and bitter reasons. Gale joins me in a minute and tugs the covers from under my body before lying down close to me and pulling them over us.

The bed is also incredibly soft and the sheets caress us with cool silky smoothness, but I'd exchange all that for the ragged blankets we'd slept in last night without a second's hesitation. So I shy away from the pleasant yet alien sensations and drape myself all over Gale instead, seeking familiar comfort in the living warmth and hard angles of his body.

He holds me wordlessly; one hand tangled in my messed-up hair, the other stroking my back in slow, innocent-yet-sensual motion. I can almost hear the wheels in his head turning, analyzing the situation and weaving vague plans. Silently hoping an opportunity to share them arises soon, I let him get lost in thought and allow myself to relax in his embrace while I still can. Gale gradually loses his own battle with fatigue and the generous nightcap from Haymitch, and his breath and heartbeat slow, lulling me to sleep.

* * *

><p>I awake to glass-filtered sunrays on my face and a warm body against my back. Gale is spooned behind me - still asleep, I can tell by his deep regular breathing, but even subconsciously enjoying the sleeping arrangement we'd arrived upon in the course of the night. I burrow deeper into his embrace, pressing myself as close as possible.<p>

It's not close enough, though.

Now I find it almost hard to believe we were making love for the first time just some thirty hours ago, alone and free under the friendly stars and eaves of our forest. The sky I looked at over his shoulder as we moved together was the same as ever, yet I feel as if something in me shifted when I fully opened myself to love and loss just as infinite. Perhaps I should regret it, but I can't bring myself to. I find only relief in the notion we'd claimed each other before anyone else had the chance to get us. The awareness of our connection soothed me even when we made no decisive move to confirm it, but now the desire stirs again, throbbing in every heartbeat. My head aches faintly and throat feels a little parched, but a little pleasure would make it pass, wouldn't it?

Gale, probably awakened by my squirming movement, shifts from behind me and coaxes me to roll onto my back. We hardly bother opening our eyes before joining our lips, eager to lose ourselves in a dream before rising into a nightmare. Right now, I don't care about being watched, and it doesn't even matter, I'm hidden halfway under the covers and halfway under Gale, and that feels safe enough. He has one arm under me, large palm cradling the back of my head, and his other hand wanders along my body, slipping under my dress and caressing my heated skin. I return his kisses with equal fervor, greedily unbuttoning his shirt to reach him.

For few precious moments, I let the rush of blood and sensation overwhelm me, but insidious sounds slowly penetrate the bubble, insistent knocking and clicking and clacking, followed by an indignantly screeched, "Tributes!"

The single word in Capitol accent seems to encompass and reproach every offense we've just committed against the 'title'. We both snap in the direction of the sound, collapsing side by side in the process.

Effie Trinket stands just few feet from the bed we're so indecently tangled on, already done up in her doll-like finery and observing us with hands on her hips, eyes flashing inscrutably from under a new set of plastic lashes.

"Just for your information, the Capitol doesn't reap their tributes for rolling around together. You should be ashamed." Her voice sounds a little tense, but that might be just morning accent. "There's a big, big day ahead of you! High time to make yourselves _presentable_," she adds with a pointed stare.

Neither of us has an answer for her, but after all, we'd hardly caught our breath yet. I feel my cheeks burn uncomfortably, and Gale's grip on me tightens.

True, our clothes are wrinkled after a night of uneasy sleep and half undone after the frantic activity of the last few minutes, but we are still reaped, so what's wrong with us being in the reaping attire? After all, it's not like either of us has never spent a much longer time in the same set of clothes. But such concept might well be beyond Effie's comprehension, as well as the fact that her tributes are people desperate to make the most of days bound to be their last.

"Don't stare at me like that," Effie admonishes us both. "You have a full hour to shower and to change. Don't you dare to be late for breakfast."

"Yeah, 'cause that would be a tragedy, right?" mutters Gale.

"A disgrace, young man," Effie corrects him. "And I'd advise you to look for fresh clothes in your own room."

When Gale makes no move to obey, she clicks her heel for emphasis. "Now!"

He leans back to me instead, with a grimace that would have made me laugh under normal circumstances. "See you in a bit," he breathes against my lips and presses on more kiss to them before rolling to the edge of the bed and standing up. I nod with a failed attempt at a smile and watch him slip on his shoes and stride out of the door.

When Effie follows and closes the door, I slowly draw my knees up to my chest and rest my head on them in a foolish little attempt to hide from everything. My pulse slowly calms down as I force the excitement and embarrassment to fade. Apart from the sense of loss and irritation at being interrupted, I do feel shame. _Not _at getting caught lip-locked and limb-tangled with the man I love, though I've always been reclusive about displays of affection. More at the reminder that we've entirely lost the little control of our lives we'd had, to the point of being watched all the time and ordered around to prepare for public display.

Whatever the purpose, I can't help but wonder how much of _ourselves_ we'll be allowed to keep. Deep down inside, I sense the final answer will be nothing. But I _know_ we'll be holding on as long as possible. I take few deep breaths, eyes tightly closed. We'll be holding on with all we have.

Time to collect myself.

I force my head up and get off the bed, padding barefoot to the wardrobe lining the compartment wall. I'm not even surprised when I open the door to reveal enough clothes to dress half the girls in our school. The abundance, even the beauty, fails to impress me, but the sheer wastefulness of the display does. I shift through the selection – all the sizes and materials and cuts and designs perhaps never to be worn, and to my relief find an unobtrusive pair of black pants and a forest-green top that look like they might fit. Good.

After grabbing the most practical looking set of underwear available, I carry my loot to the bathroom, and this time take a moment to wonder how can something like this function _on a train_, and how many houses in the Seam could be built for its value. But I'll never know, and how would wondering help anyone?

Luckily, I have the sink and the toilet already figured out, but then I find myself more than a little baffled in front of the shower. It doesn't take me long to decide _not_ to put myself at the mercy of all the buttons and wash myself in the sink like I'm used to. Just as I turn to the door to fetch something to use as a washcloth, there's a faint knock.

"Yeah?" I say uncertainly. I hadn't noticed the tell-tale sound of high heels, so I allow myself to hope it's not Effie coming to instruct me about proper bathroom manners, or my lack thereof.

I shake my head, both relieved and perplexed, as the door opens and Gale steps in with some clothes under his arm, and an unapologetically cheerful grin on his face.

"You're back early," I comment, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

"Looks like I'm right on time," Gale counters and wraps one arm around my waist, making me stumble against him. "I couldn't let you face the horrors of a Capitol shower alone, could I?"

I muffle my burst of laughter against his shoulder. "How noble of you, Gale."

"Anything for you, Catnip." He presses his lips against mine before I can answer, hot, passionate kisses demanding me to forget what exactly the sentence can come to mean in our current circumstances.

Why dwell on death while we still live?

It's almost too easy to continue where we'd unwillingly left off a while ago, the desire rising and boiling over as soon as we clasp each other in a wanton embrace. We break apart only to breathe and shed clothes, I don't even know what feels more necessary. Thus, I'm slightly surprised when Gale really pushes me into the shower and releases me for long enough to slide the frosted glass panels closed, but I agree, the more walls separate us from everyone and everything else, the better. I allow myself to believe nobody is watching us here, after all, why would they? Judging by Effie's reaction, pairs of tributes usually don't get to celebrate last moments of life this way.

We both catch several loads of wildly colored and extravagantly smelling substances as our bodies inadvertently bump into buttons on the wall, and eventually have to disentangle to find actual water. Luckily, Gale gets the controls quickly enough and soon we are standing where the abundant stream from the showerhead dissolves into a steady, warm rain. Artificial, but still most welcome, washing everything else away.

Gale has shifted right behind me, his hard body pressed against my back as his hands roam my front, spreading scented foam over my torso. Moaning in delight, I lean into him and reach my arms as far back as possible, trailing my fingers along the smooth skin of his sides, fluttering over hipbones and reaching lower. He stifles a pleasured groan against my neck and proceeds to lavish hot, open-mouthed kisses there, one hand tilting my head to grant him better access to my skin, the other slipping between my legs. My body arches in response, hips meeting every movement of Gale's teasing fingers, head falling limply to his shoulder, hand flitting back and forth in a frantic attempt to give him the same pleasure.

Our mouths join in a brief kiss, deep and fiery, before Gale breaks it off and trails his lips to my ear. "I love you," he whispers, his voice low and rough with desire

Before I can draw breath to answer, he pushes me slightly forward, his palm trailing from my nape down my back to cup my ass, strong fingers digging into my flesh. My gasp of surprise melts into a moan of anticipation as Gale closes his hand over mine, coaxing me to guide him inside. I comply without hesitation and help him slide in, relishing the deep, aching sense of fullness, and the mounting pleasure as we begin to move together. Thrown off balance by the increasing speed, I fumble for one-handed purchase on the slippery wall, my palm squeaking on the wet tiles, the nails of my other hand digging into Gale's thigh in a silent _don't you dare stop_ warning.

Louder and louder sounds squeeze their way from between my clenched teeth, but I don't care, the rustling water drowns most of them, and _I don't care_, nothing else matters but _us_ finding release in each other. It's close already, we've both been too wound up to hold anything back and we don't have much time anyway. Gale's hands stop roaming my body and lock around my hips as he sends me over the edge with last few hard thrusts, drawing a scream that must be heard even beyond all the walls of our refuge.

Every muscle in my body seems to contract and then release in gradual spasms, leaving me pliant in his arms and unable to protest when he turns me around and presses my back against the wall, filling me with his fingers instead and prolonging the pleasure almost to the point of pain. Taking the cue, I wrap my hand around him, hard and throbbing and sticky with _me_, giving him the last few strokes that separated him from his own gratification.

Gale has his other hand tangled in my hair, tilting my face upwards to look at him, and I do, staring transfixed into the cloudy-gray heaven in his eyes, just inches away… or right here as my own roll back in delight still holding onto the image. Moments later, I feel his forehead rest against mine, wet hair plastering over my face, body sinking into my embrace. Hot breath mingles between our lips in ragged whispers of evotion as droplets of sweat and love and water mix on our skin.

My head spins with much more pleasant intoxication than the alcohol-induced one from last night, and my heart beating alongside Gale's feels strong, for a moment too strong to break at the notion that our bodies are probably doomed to a life span shorter than that of a liquor bottle owned by anyone but Haymitch. If anything, the thought of death seems to sharpen every sense and heighten the experience of life.

* * *

><p>"So, what are we gonna do?" I whisper when we recuperate a little and Gale tugs me under the main stream of water to wash away the last remnants of foam and all traces of our frantic lovemaking.<p>

Gale wraps me in his arms, bringing his lips close to my ear. "Stick together," he whispers and squeezes a light laugh out of me. "And we have to find out what's really going on," he adds more seriously, "but either way, we seem to have permission to raise hell."

I shiver a little even in the warmth of his embrace. I know he never thought it would happen this way, but I can tell he's warming up to the idea. After all, he's been dreaming about doing something against the Capitol all his life. The realization both scares and excites me.

"But we are still going to the Games," I mutter, trailing my fingers up and down his back in a calming motion.

"Obviously." He seems to deflate a little, holding onto me. "But if we show them up in the Games, everyone will see it."

"You think that's what Haymitch meant?"

"What else?" Gale replies. "The question is how. And how to get you out of it as unharmed as possible."

"Me!" I snort. I pull away slightly, slip my fingers into his hair and tug, bringing us nose to nose. "It's us, or I _will_ hurt you. Get it?"

Gale gives me a wry smile. "That might well be the point," he says and pushes against my grip to plant a kiss on my forehead.

"Yeah," I sigh. A single look into his eyes suffices to know he has the same opinion on how that might reflect on the _staying alive_ part in the end. But if we survived together long enough to be noticed and showed them we won't turn against each other no matter the cost…

"Even if we die, we won't die as their tributes," says Gale.

I nod determinedly. "That's something to hold onto. But if we are to survive at all, we should get going. We must be already late," I add, drawling the last word with a Capitol accent.

Gale winks and shrugs. "Worth it." But he does move away to let the water flow freely between our bodies, and then stops it and turns on a whirlwind of hot air that dries us in a minute.

"Convenient shit, really," he mutters through gritted teeth as we exit the shower. "They have this kind of high-tech, and we are starving and slaving away in mines that can blow up any moment-"

"Shut it," I hiss. There's nothing to drown the noise now, and I don't need him to bring up that kind of memories anyway. "Please," I add when he glares at me.

Gale shakes his head. "Sorry I'm not sorry."

"I know," I snap after a long-suffering sigh. And I know he knows I agree, so why bother and risk?

We pull the new clothes on in slightly tense silence, and I quickly finger-comb my hair. Gale comes up behind me as I re-braid it and presses a conciliatory kiss to my temple when I'm done. "What about those?" he asks softly, gesturing to our reaping clothes strewn carelessly on the bathroom floor.

I sigh as I pick up my dress, and then unclasp the mockingjay pin and attach it to my new top. "We can't exactly take them along," I say wistfully and run my hand along the soft fabric of my mother's dress. I wish I could keep it, as a reminder of her, of Prim, of home. But of course, that's not the kind of luxury I could afford here.

"Nope," Gale confirms and reaches into the pocket of the shirt that must have once belonged to his father. He retrieves his own token, along with the cookie from the baker. "Hey, and this?"

I smile wryly and pull out my own dandelion-adorned one. "Eat them?"

"Well, they sure won't take them away if we do," he says, unwraps his own cookie with the frosted katniss and pops it into his mouth. "Hmm, you taste better."

I try my best not to choke with cookie-crumbs and laughter.

Still munching, we make our way back to the room and settle for laying the empty clothes on my bed. Whatever fate they meet later, at least it feels more dignified than leaving them on the bathroom floor.

"Cookies before coming late for breakfast, Effie will be happy with us," I comment as we make our way along the corridor to the dining area.

"Well, she'll sure as hell survive it," retorts Gale.

* * *

><p>We can't be <em>that<em> late, because Haymitch is still absent, and Effie indeed does survive; she just clucks her tongue disapprovingly and gestures to the generous spread on the breakfast table. "Quickly, eat up, we'll be in the Capitol before you know it!"

The notion threatens to rob me of my appetite, but I load my plate and force myself to ignore the tightness in my stomach. Gale doesn't let the circumstances daunt him at all and attacks the food as if he wanted to accomplish the virtually impossible task of not letting anything go to waste. Of course, we may as well use the little time we have to build up as much strength as possible. We also seem to be properly enjoying the hospitality of our captors for once, but Effie shows no signs of appreciation and alternates between staring at the door of the dining compartment and taking dainty, but obviously tense sips from her cup.

She seems to relax only when Haymitch shuffles in through the doorway, and quickly excuses herself. Our mentor looks sober for a change, but tired as if he hadn't slept at all. He proceeds to flop on a chair opposite us, frowns at the food and grabs a whole pot of coffee without bothering with a cup. All for liquid nutrition, obviously.

I have found my own – a cup something I immediately recognized as chocolate, even though I haven't had any in years and I'd never would have imagined making a drink out of it. But the result is wonderful, and I sip it slowly to savor the taste and to occupy the last available nooks in my already full stomach. I allow myself a moment to wish the weight there was the only thing keeping me from gathering everything we hadn't eaten and running home to share it with the kids. _They couldn't have slept well, and a whole day's worth of meals at home can't compare to the feast we'd just had…_

The creamy sweetness seems to turn into ashes in my mouth, making me choke. Gale immediately drops his fork onto his mostly empty plate and reaches over to rub my back. I release my death-grip on the innocent chocolate mug and gratefully pat his knee under the table. The brief glance we exchange suffices to let me know he understands and thinks the same, and that we can't afford to think that way now.

We need to concentrate on what lies ahead.

Keeping his arm around me, Gale turns to Haymitch who'd looked over at the sudden noise. "What now?" he asks, gruffly though I can tell he's trying to guard his tone.

"You've got a fun day ahead, kids," says Haymitch with a grimace. "You'll get all prettied up for the audience."

We open our mouths at once, ready to tell him what we think about that, but he gives us no chance. "Yeah, I know, you won't like it all. But don't you dare resist, whatever they do."

"Why should we let them-" starts Gale.

"It's not time to fight, not yet. You gotta get your deal of attention first. And the stylists are on your side. They'll help you there."

_On our side_. Imagining Capitol people whose job is to dress children for slaughter on our side feels nearly impossible.

"How will dolling us up help?" I snap. "It's never helped anyone before."

"You have to be unforgettable. For everyone in Panem," says Haymich with emphasis on the _everyone_. "They have to love you, sweetheart. Both of you. So much they wouldn't want to see you die."

The words do sound hopeful, but Haymitch's tone and somber expression confirm our suspicions: even if we do our best, we are more likely to end up as martyrs. As if there hadn't been enough of those already.

Haymitch watches us for a moment and nods. "So listen to your stylists." He raises his eyebrows. "They'll make you shine alright."

I'm about to argue that given the history of unassuming coal-inspired costumes I vaguely remember, shining is highly unlikely, when the compartment suddenly goes dark. Instinctively, I draw closer to Gale and feel his muscles tense.

"Boo," growls the darkness. "Welcome to the beast's lair, sweethearts."

We can tell it we are supposed to pass it off as a joke and force a laugh, but it feels uncomfortably _true_. We are passing a tunnel dug through the otherwise impenetrable mountain range that has reliably protected the Capitol from the first rebellion. Under the immeasurable tons of rock, the sense of entrapment is more pervasive and acute than ever before. Again, I can't help to think about our fathers, buried in the eternal darkness of the mines.

Is this how it feels?

But it can't be, because for us, there's still light at the end of the tunnel. Bright and colorful and perhaps even more ominous than the darkness, but still, light.

I can't help but rush to the window to have a look at the _great_ Capitol we normally only see on the TV screen, and Gale follows in my wake.

"So this is it," he mutters, the few syllables dripping with resentment and grudging awe in equal measure.

I nod mutely, my eyes widening on their own accord.

The sight before us certainly is awe-inspiring. Buildings in every color imaginable tower incredibly high, making me feel incredibly small. In a bad way too. In our forest, I also feel small, but like a small independently moving part of a whole, all in my element and surviving in accordance with the laws of nature. Here everything feels hostile and artificial, ready to crush me if I resist and poison me if I comply.

The ornamentally paved streets between the buildings swarm with bizarre cars and even more bizarre people. We get better look as the train slows down on its way to the station, and crowds that had gathered there to greet it grin and wave and presumably roar in excitement.

Celebrating our impeding doom.

I feel Gale's arm around my waist, pressing me against him. I wish I could just hide in his embrace and never return a single glance from the spectators, but Haymitch's words echo in my head. _They have to love you_.

I lay one hand on Gale's, tangling my fingers with his, and raise the other to wave. Gale does the same, and soon blurred fingers begin to point to our window. My smile must be more like a pained grimace, but I dare to hope nobody can tell while the train is moving.

After few excruciating minutes, the crowd disappears as the walls of the station rise around the train. We let go, turning to glance at Haymitch. He gives us a nod that can pass for approving, and then gestures towards in the direction of the door.

Before we reach it, Gale offers me his hand and I tangle my fingers with his, steeling myself for our step into the predator's lair and quietly dreading the moment when we'll be separated and subjected to whatever 'fun' procedures the Capitol has in store for us before the Games even begin.

Next time we meet, we'll be already changed, at least outwardly.

Gale returns my desperate grip with reassuring strength and tilts his head down to me with a little smirk. The pin from Madge digs into my chest as I press myself against his side. The gold is bright against my forest green top, and with a bittersweet pang I remember my father singing to the mockingjays in the woods. All the songs that were forbidden inside the district, while teaching me everything I needed to survive. A part of him still lives in me, in everything I've ever learned from him, in every memory I cherish. I've shared all that with Gale, and I have him here, strong and alive by my side.

He leans down, his lips almost touching mine. "C'mon, Catnip. We can do this," he whispers.

"Together," I confirm before our lips connect for a second, a seal of our fierce, possessive, protective, and perhaps lethally stubborn love.

Moments later, we exit the train hand in hand, with our heads held high, full of determination that we'll show the Capitol there's something they can't possess, and we'll fight for it to the last breath.

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed :)<strong>


	8. The Conflagration

Thank y'all for your support :) Without further ado, moving on :D

Opening quote by Ray Bradbury. Overused, it is. Honestly, I don't know what it is about it that's so lovely.

* * *

><p><strong>Love, Thorns and Fire<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>VIII.<strong>

**The Conflagration**

"_What is it about fire that's so lovely? No matter what age we are, what draws us to it?...The thing man wanted to invent, but never did...If you let it go on, it'd burn our lifetimes out. What is fire? It is a mystery."_

* * *

><p>I'm glad I'm here instead of Prim. More than ever.<p>

That's the first thing to rush through my mind when three people who'd introduced themselves as Venia, Octavia and Flavius sink their multicolored claws into me. I couldn't stand the thought of perfect strangers touching her like this - even though they aren't lewd or improper, in fact they are treating me like a somehow charming work assignment. As if it was perfectly normal for them to take a person and subject them to all kinds of highly embarrassing torture with an excited smile. Experience by experience, the reality of the situation sinks in. For them I'm a tribute. Payment requested by the Capitol in unfair punishment for the offences of our long-dead ancestors, to do with as they please.

I reckon my beautiful little sister, whom I'd protected from all the hardships I possibly could, wouldn't need as much attention as I do - older, callused and scarred from years of striving for survival in the woods that I am – but still… they'd have absolutely no right to strip her naked and inspect her to make sure her body complies with their beauty standard.

Apparently, mine is well below the lowest notch. They scrub and peel and depilate my skin, discussing all my flaws in high-pitched voices, in between random reminiscing about past Games and wondering about the impeding round. And most often, telling me how amazing I will be once they are done with me. I have to bite my tongue to prevent myself from telling them I've received more pleasurable votes of confidence even without an ounce of their help, and now I only feel dirtier with every procedure and with the application of every new 'beautifying' substance.

What do they think they can achieve?

Gale can make me feel beautiful with a single glance. Wonderful with a smile. Perfect with a touch. I shiver slightly, quickly suppressing the memories of our lovemaking mere hours ago, in irrational fear my prep team will pluck them away too to rid themselves of the natural opposing force. Because whatever they do, their efforts can't come nowhere near to making me feel _that _desirable.

But they don't know that, and I don't think I could stop them from trying by telling them. Heeding Haymitch's advice and my own assessment that this indeed isn't the time and place to fight, I grit my teeth and hold still. I can't show them how much they are getting to me already. They'd barely started, and I don't even fully know what am I going to need all my strength for.

Closing my eyes tightly, I concentrate on the last glimpse of Gale's face I'd caught before we were led our separate ways; recalling all the tiny details that may be lost forever by now: the sunburn gracing his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, the slight chapping of lips, the dark stubble he hadn't deigned to take care of since before our last free adventure, the unruly hair already growing out from the haircut I'd given him myself few weeks ago. Which wasn't perfect to begin with and we laughed about it till our stomachs hurt, and then kissed, and then it suddenly _wa_s perfect and I slipped my fingers into his hair and messed it up just how I liked it...

I scrunch my eyes a little tighter, and resist the urge to ball my fist when I imagine another trio of well-meaning idiots touching him. I know they have nothing against me; they seem to be thinking they are helping me, but my resentment still grows with every second. Even if I don't really want to hurt my technicolor molesters personally, I wish I could somehow undermine the principle that makes them act the way they do, all excited about primping me up for slaughter. Whatever Haymitch's plan is, they don't seem to have the capacity to be onto it, and to think outside their bright, colorful and endlessly entertaining box.

When they finally step back to admire their work – that is, me, naked and plucked raw, they confirm my suspicions.

"Wonderful! You look almost human now!" exclaims Octavia, the woman with all, at least visible, skin dyed pale green, and claps jeweled hands in childish glee. Flavius smiles with purple lips and tight orange ringlets bounce around his head as he nods vigorously.

Unfortunately, I can't repay the "compliment". Their images would need a lot of down-tuning to pass for human in _my_ eyes. But I'm sure I wouldn't send them into the arena with a happy smile. Instead, I'm torn between astonishment and disgust. They seem purely happy; celebrating a nice little accomplishment they get a shot at only once a year. And they obviously think the best they can do is to make me _almost human_. Because in their eyes, I'll never be _fully_ so.

Is that why they are doing it? To make our bodies look pleasing and human by their standards, only to convince themselves that we are not when they lock us in a deathmatch specifically designed to strip every bit of humanity from us? To make us into pretty toys first and gruesome toys later, and to assure themselves that's all we are, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with what they are doing to us?

I swallow a little bile and smile with all the sweetness I can muster. Admittedly, it's not much. "Thanks."

"And you'll be absolutely gorgeous when Cinna is through with you," adds Venia, golden tattoos swirling above the wiggling turquoise eyebrows that match her hair. "Wait here, we'll go get him."

I nod. "Can I at least put something on?"

"Oh no. Your stylist needs to see what he has to work with, dearie," squeaks Octavia and darts out after her colleagues.

_Cinna?_

I don't quite remember the names of the District Twelve's stylists, after all their most remarkable achievement up to date had been that "naked and covered in coal dust" creation that didn't come out very impressive on the poor emaciated kids from the community home, but I'm pretty sure neither of them was named Cinna.

But I'll find out soon enough.

He enters the room and I flinch uncomfortably, but resist the urge to cover myself. I'm not particularly ashamed for how I look, with the exception of the skin that is still unpleasantly red and raw from my 'humanizing' procedures, but I hate the fact that I had no choice in the matter. Honestly, being introduced to strange men while naked is not my way to go. _And come to think of it, is some strange woman ogling Gale right now?_ My jaw clenches compulsively at the thought.

I do my best to hold my temper in check and my chin high, though, and meet a pair of green eyes with yellow flecks accentuated to gold by lightly applied eyeliner. Surprisingly, that seems to be the only visible homage my stylist paid to the twisted cult of Capitol fashion. Otherwise, he looks genuinely young – unlike many of his fellow stylists who choose to extend their youth beyond the border of grotesque, and perfectly… normal. With his close cropped dark hair and inconspicuous black clothing, I guess he wouldn't look out of place in any district.

"Hello, Katniss. I'm Cinna, your stylist," he introduces himself softly. After the highly accented chattering of his forerunners, his words sound soothingly natural.

"Hello," I say cautiously, forcing the word through tight lips.

"Just a moment, please," he says, obviously sensing my discomfort.

He walks around me once, not touching me, and looks at me as if I were an unfinished piece of art, with a strange kind of passion I can't quite fathom. Like Prim while dressing a wound, like Gale while setting a complicated snare, like Madge the one time I'd accepted her invitation in and she played something on her piano for me. It makes me uncomfortable enough to clench my fists at my sides, but not violated to the point of being tempted to use them.

True, to his word, he keeps the scrutiny brief. "Standard procedure or so I've heard," he says with a hint of dismissal, retrieves my robe and hands it to me. "Put this on and we'll have some talk to go with the lunch, okay?"

Nodding, I quickly pull it on. Getting a scrap of my decency back and the prospect of food do sound inviting after the excruciating morning. Cinna bends over the rest of my discarded clothes for a moment, and then leads the way into a sitting room.

"You are new, right?" I ask unnecessarily when I settle opposite him onto a red couch, plusher even than the one I'd sat on in the Justice Building. "Is that why they gave you District Twelve?"

"I asked for District Twelve," he corrects me after nodding at my first assumption.

"Why?" I ask impulsively, even though something tells me I probably shouldn't.

"To make you remarkable for a _change_," he answers, with slight but noticeable emphasis on the last word. He lowers his eyelids for a moment, the movement coaxing my own gaze to drop to the tiny gleam of gold between his fingers. My mockingjay pin.

So this is why Haymitch told us to obey are stylists. Whatever is happening, they are onto it. I just can't help but wonder how are they going to make us stand out. I've seen enough recaps of tribute parades to tell our district industry doesn't offer many creative possibilities.

I nod slightly, and try to giggle to cover up my almost-blunder. "So, how do you make a miner's uniform remarkable?"

Cinna smiles wide, gold-rimmed eyes sparkling. "My colleague Portia… " - _another new name_ - "… and I have decided that concept is a bit overdone. Of course, we still are confined by the industry of your district, but we've decided to focus on the product itself."

I raise my eyebrows. Making lumps of coal interesting sounds even more impossible to me. And here I was hoping naked and covered in coal dust is so last year.

"Tell me, Katniss, what the coal _does_?" says my stylist with a grin.

I shrug. "Burn?"

Cinna nods sagely. "Exactly. You aren't afraid of fire, are you?"

He chuckles under his breath at my expression, and presses a button on the table that calls our lunch. The miraculous appearance of several scrumptiously looking dishes does little to distract me, but I still dig in with gusto.

The meal may well be my last, and even earlier than anticipated.

* * *

><p>Gale's entourage shows no signs of physical harm, so I infer he'd kept our bargain with Haymitch too, but he looks incensed enough to catch fire even without the suspicious invention of our stylists. The emotion in his gaze when his eyes rest on me hits me like a thunderbolt, and then I'm in his arms, oblivious of the people around and unaware of moving to cross the distance.<p>

"You okay?" he whispers into my skin as he holds me, our bulky outfits scraping together.

I nod and pull back to have a better look at him, noting with relief that he survived his prepping ordeal mostly unscathed. The clean shave and flattering haircut only showcase his striking features and his eyes smolder as hotly as ever, from beneath eyebrows that obviously didn't require as much taming as mine. He takes in my made-up countenance with a slight frown, but then breaks into a wry grin and tugs at the end of my braid. Luckily, Cinna had settled for replicating my usual hairstyle in order to keep me recognizable when I enter the arena. The idea calmed me a little, especially because it assured me we are meant to survive our extraordinary display at the tribute parade.

Presently, we are wearing matching outfits that resemble the traditional product of our district in a rather literal fashion – black and slightly glossy overalls that have outwardly transformed us into sections of the coal seam come alive in human form. They are thick like armor and very heavy, with lumpy ridges that copy the lines of human muscles and accentuate both our figures, making Gale's shoulders look even broader and arms stronger, and my thin body curvier.

"You're beautiful even as a fashionable piece of coal," mutters Gale.

I wink at him and lightly rap his chest with my knuckles. "Right back atcha, pretty boy. And we'll make pretty human torches," I add dryly. Because that's what our coal-outfits are supposed to do: catch fire. From one sleeve – Gale's left and my right – extends something like a finger-glove, with a switch that we'll have to press between our palms as we raise our arms above our heads, and ignite the most sensational spectacle. Or so I've heard.

Cinna steps closer and lays his hands on both our shoulders, but I can't even feel his attempt at a comforting touch through the thickness of the material I'm wearing. "You won't burn out tonight, I promise. But you'll shine." He looks dreamy for a moment, gazing somewhere above and beyond us. "Oh, you'll shine _so_ brightly."

My suspicion that Cinna's inconspicuously handsome exterior hides equal measures of brilliance and madness strengthens yet again. But being at the mercy of his subversive genius gives me at least a smidgen of hope that our presence here will count for more than just routine punishment and entertainment. I still instinctively draw closer to Gale, though, finding more comfort in the notion that we are in this together. He's the only living person I completely trust and would rely on in absolutely any situation, and I know the faith is mutual.

Cinna steps back with a slight smile, looking at us as if we were a complete artwork now, and my heart softens towards him. I can agree with that.

* * *

><p>We are the last to arrive to the bottom of the Remake center, a gigantic stable from which the tributes ride out on horse-drawn carriages to parade through the streets and then around the City Circle, the very center of the Capitol.<p>

As we pass the other tributes on our way to the far end of the huge room, the Careers glance at us disdainfully, others indifferently, and some from the higher numbered districts with interest that only increases when we automatically join our ungloved hands to present a united front. A little girl from Eleven that caught most of my attention during the reaping recap, tiny and innocent like Prim, but with nobody to volunteer for her, catches my eyes even now. She even smiles slightly, and I can't help but return the favor.

When I pass her, I furiously blink away the familiar sting of tears.

* * *

><p>I half-expected Haymitch to be waiting for us to give us some last minute instructions, but he's not there. When I look around, though, I catch a glimpse of him far down the row of carriages, talking to the unmistakable Finnick Odair, one of the most popular Victors. Frowning, I nudge Gale to draw his gaze there. But before we can contemplate what he might want with the heartthrob of the Capitol and mentor of the <em>Career<em> district Four, our stylists tug us towards our carriage drawn by four coal-black horses.

The perch there is precarious, especially for me because of a raised platform that's obviously been added to bring me much closer to Gale's height and thus make our stunt actually possible. But at least I'll have him to hold onto.

Music is already blasting and the door is opening, releasing the dazzling chariot with tributes from One into the cheering maw of the Capitol crowds. They are always the favorites, and I find myself wondering whether the fire of Cinna's experiment really has a chance to outshine them.

The roar of the spectators only intensifies when the second chariot rolls out, with deadliest-looking tributes standing proud and statuesque in stylized armor. I shiver slightly and look around from my newfound vantage point. The District Four chariot is already rolling towards the door and Finnick has disappeared from my sight, but I notice Haymitch stopping to exchange few words with a fierce-looking young woman standing near a chariot with tributes dressed as some kind of trees.

Then my attention is diverted again, because our stylists climb onto the chariot to adjust our stance and add the last details. Cinna pulls out my mockinjay pin and fastens it to my chest, the needle apparently sliding through a predesignated fissure in the odd material. Gale's stylist, a dolled-up blonde whose name I learned is Portia, slips the necklace from Madge around his neck and gives him an encouraging smile. So now is the time, apparently.

"Raise your hands and fear not," says Cinna before they jump from the chariot.

Even though I'm to exude fire moments later, my stomach feels like a pit of ice, and my legs tremble as the chariot starts to move to join the queue at the door. We can't hold hands now in order not to activate our costumes too soon, but Gale shifts a little closer, so that our arms brush. I look up at him with a slight grateful smile, drawing encouragement from his determined gaze. _We can do this_.

From Cinna's words, I'd gathered we could also refrain from using the fire and pass as unnoticed as any pair of District Twelve tributes before us. The element of choice, the first we've been furtively offered so far, only strengthens my resolve to make a difference, though. I will my breathing to calm, and my leg muscles slowly get used to balancing on the chariot._ We can do this._

The ice within me seems to melt slowly, and transform into liquid excitement coursings through my veins and saturating me with almost morbid anticipation. Every cell in my body throbs in tune with the blasting music and roaring crowds. Gale's ungloved fingers brush mine, adding a touch of energy that is completely our own. _We can do this._

And into the city we go, into the sea of light and noise.

I look over the crowds, raising my free hand in a preliminary salute and catching a glimpse of us in the one of the big screens lining the avenue. We don't look like us, the boy and a girl from the woods we'd been mere two days ago. For a moment, we look like usual District Twelve tributes, coal-dark and unassuming victims the cameras would perfunctorily cut to before zooming back onto more compelling targets.

But then Gale tugs my arm up and fire bursts from our joined hands, spreading down our bodies and enveloping us in ethereal glow. It gives me faint tickling sensation as it generates somewhere between the layers of my suit, but nothing more, no lethal heat and smoke. It seems to emanate from our very bodies, fighting its way out between the black ridges of our suits and trailing behind us, wing-like, in the wind created by the speed of our chariot. We are united in the light, holding onto each other and flaunting something that radiates from even deeper within, unfathomable and unconquerable.

The screams of the crowd, which have been in the process of dulling into a dutiful buzz after the initial excitement, quickly redouble in intensity. People are pointing, chanting, screaming, first the number of our district and then even our names. Their excitement is contagious and I take it in, drawing strength from the very core of the enemy. I smile so wide my cheeks hurt, wave and even blow kisses, watching with amused satisfaction as the crazed audience literally scrambles to catch them. Gale is doing the same, eliciting even more vivid reactions, especially from the women.

The whole situation is insane; they know they are sending us off to our deaths and cheering into our funeral march, yet they celebrate us as if they _cared_. It's twisted. They just _want_ us, unto death. And we smile at them like we wanted them to ask _why_ when we die.

We don't belong to them and I swear to myself we never will, but we aren't entirely ourselves either, not anymore. We belong to the cause.

Our symbols shine like the sun and the moon in the firelight, my pin golden against the darkness of my suit, Gale's pendant silver against skin, the outlines of the birds animated by flickering flames. They are flying as if free, better visible through the screens than by the live audience in the Capitol. If Haymitch and Cinna and whoever else decided we are to carry a message to the districts, we are off to a good start. We'll do our best while trapped here and in the arena, most probably never to return. We'll have to make sure it outlives us.

Right as we enter the City Circle, making a beeline for the President's mansion for our official welcome, somebody throws us a red rose. I catch it and pretend to sniff it, and on impulse press it into a ridge in my suit over my heart, half hoping it might catch the artificial fire.

It does.

It burns, and seems to shoot sparkles into the darkening air when I throw it in a high arch. It fills the screens for a brief moment, and then the camera cuts to my face. My grin is so victorious I hardly recognize myself. Gale is looking down on me, and I slightly turn my head to face him, meeting his eyes that burn more fiercely than the synthetic flames fanning around us. Before I can think about it, our lips meet as well, and the final crescendo of our sacrificial march seems to explode in tune with our triumphant hearts and the mad cheering of the crowd.


	9. The Embers

Another short, lame & later-than-promised chapter. Because I'm a failure, and I'll have a work-project to speed-finish and have no idea when I'll be able to update again, and I want to keep this at least semi-regular. Sigh. Enjoy, if possible. Big thanks to y'all wonderful people for bearing with me.

Opening quote by J. P. Sartre. Again, guess I love him too much.

* * *

><p><strong>Love, Thorns and Fire<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>IX.<strong>

**The Embers**

"_Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you."_

* * *

><p>My blood boils with excitement, but when the chariot rolls to a halt in front of the President's mansion, the bubbles burst one by one and release the noxious fumes of anxiety. Our flames no longer fly in the wind, but diminish and flicker in the ridges of our suits, turning us into dormant embers.<p>

Gale's fingers tighten around mine as we face the tall marble pillars of the center of Panem's power. Unlike the spectators, vulnerable in their stupid infatuation, the guards and officials up on the balcony stand immovable and impenetrable. President Snow is first and foremost among them, his hair and sickly pale complexion matching both the white stone framing him and the rose on his lapel. He looks smaller in person than I would have imagined him based on TV-portrayals, but deadly like a poisonous snake. He supervises the display on the City Circle with aloof interest, as if the crazed crowds were a part of his game just like we tributes are.

It may as well be true. The government he represents controls the districts by taking their children, their food, their products and throwing everything to its citizens, and controls them in turn by swamping them in the stolen indulgences. How else could they crowd the streets in inhuman finery, cheering as if the arrival of twenty-four people –all but one doomed to death – was not only the most exciting moment of the year, but a truly _happy_ one?

This is what we are truly against, not the mass of disgusting fools, not the other tributes, but the power that twists our world this way. And has us trapped.

I feel more than see Snow's gaze linger on us as he inspects the tributes, and shudder slightly at the powerful hostile vibes. He must have seen that we've excited his audience more than enough, more than any other pair of tributes, but the unauthorized novelty of the way we did it is obviously not welcome. _And neither is public burning of roses_, I think when his right hand reaches to the rose on his lapel, thin fingers lightly tapping the small vial encasing its stem.

Turning my head slightly, I chance a look at Gale, momentarily mesmerized by the way the smoldering glow of our costumes accentuates his features. He squeezes my hand a little tighter and angles his body towards me, but stares unflinchingly ahead with a very familiar frown.

Reassured, I do the same. We've already been singled out, and there's truly no way back. No way forwards either. We'll have to carve a path for ourselves as far as we can, but I believe Cinna's fire will help us navigate this new jungle we've been thrown into. The cameras are still drawn to us, zooming on us more often than on the other tributes while the President gives the traditional welcome speech. I've been doing my very best to tune it out ever since I can remember, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this year's is more focused on the futility of changing the order than the usual hypocritical drivel about our supposed bravery and sacrifice. His eyes flit to us more often as well, especially when the speech ends and the national anthem blasts from the speakers, so loud I feel the tones vibrating in every cell of my body.

I do my best not to appear shaken, though, and grin again when the chariot sets in motion to carry us the rest of the way to the Training Center. Gale releases my bloodless hand then, and wraps his arm around my waist instead. Gratefully, I do the same, leaning into him but holding my head high and proud. The flames grow again as we gain speed, coalescing into a glorious tail behind us and flap like wings with every wave of our free hands.

Mad cheering follows us all the way, muted only by the gates of the Training Center slamming shut behind us. Our prep teams immediately engulf us, almost making up for all the lost noise with excited congratulations. The flames sizzle out as if timed, siphoning back into the ridges of the costumes that suddenly feel a bit lighter. Most tributes have already gotten off their chariots, but I notice their stealthy looks at us over their shoulders, some awed, some laced with obvious anger that we'd outshone them.

I can't blame them, though; the interest the crowd and potential sponsors have taken in us might as well reduced the chances of survival for everyone else. A pang of guilt shoots through me. Whatever I do, I'm fighting _them_ too, however much I hate the idea. Precisely because fighting the _idea _can't go without collateral damage.

Luckily or not, my thoughts are interrupted by Effie, who burst through the chatter of the prep teams with her own compliments about our outfits and congratulations to Cinna and Portia for their "stellar debut".

"And you two just won't ever behave, will you?" she says when finally addressing us and clasps her hands with an affected sigh. Then she breaks into a grin, though. Hard to tell underneath all the makeup, but the expression looks almost fond and more genuine than any I've ever seen on her. "But guess what? The sponsors liked your little display! Everybody was asking about you, I couldn't keep them away. You were the stars of the show!" She is practically beaming, probably because being a District Twelve escort finally garnered her exactly the kind of attention she craved, but her words still somehow reassure me. We've made an impression, and hopefully, we'll be able to make it last.

We let her usher us into the elevator, a fancy glassy contraption that will take us to the top floor of the Training Center that will be our home and prison until the Games start. The prep teams say their boisterous goodbyes, but Cinna and Portia accompany us up. Again, there's no sign of Haymitch, but just before the sliding doors close after us, a slim figure forces her way through the gap.

From close up, I recognize her as the only living female victor from Seven, Johanna Mason. And the woman I've glimpsed talking to Haymitch before the parade. I hope we'll get a safe opportunity to ask our mentor about his dealings with colleagues from other districts.

"Y'all don't mind me along for the ride, right?" she asks unnecessarily as she jabs her finger into the button numbered 6.

Effie purses her lips and pointedly looks away, probably unimpressed by her manners, but Cinna reassures her with a gracious smile. "Not at all."

Johanna winks at him and acknowledges Portia with a nod. "Nice fireworks, you two. My kids sure would have traded," she continues, turning her attention to Gale and me. "Everyone was eating up your yummy barbecue. And no wonder, really." Johanna wiggles her eyebrows and lightly bumps Gale's shoulder with her knuckles.

"Thanks." I notice Gale's grin from the corner of my eye and, though I'm already holding his hand, instinctively step closer and place my free hand on his arm, possessively digging my fingers into the ridges of his extinguished costume. Gale soothingly rubs my palm with his thumb, but doesn't turn away from Johanna. No wonder, really, she's quite a sight, a little taller than me and her obviously Capitol-designed outfit reveals a striking balance of curves and muscles.

She notices my glare and waves her hands in an exaggerated conciliatory gesture. "That goes for you too, brainless."

A nasty comment dies at my lips. I certainly didn't expect her to include me in the compliment. "What?"

She shrugs. "You're nothing much now, but you sure looked _feisty_ enough in those flames, sweetheart."

I silence Gale's chuckle with a well-aimed jab in the ribs and Johanna laughs loudly. Seconds later, the elevator stops at the sixth floor with a ding and she turns towards the door. "Pleasure meeting y'all. Remember, kids, they love hot tributes to pieces. Not to mention hot Victors," she throws over her shoulder and winks once more before exiting the elevator.

Shaking my head, I frown up at Gale, and the rest of the mercifully swift journey up passes in tense silence.

"So you also think I'm nothing much?" I hiss at Gale when we file out of the elevator after everyone else. I try to glare at him when he stops and turns to face me, but something in his expression makes the corners of my mouth twitch upward.

"Oh no, Catnip," he says with his familiar bright smile and plants a kiss on my forehead. "You are everything." Gale steps a little closer, taking my face in his hands, and brushes his lips over my hairline my ear. "And we gotta ask Haymitch what the hell she was going on about," he whispers.

"Yeah," I agree, splaying my hands over his chest and drumming my fingers on the thick material of his costume. "Guess we should get out of this first, though."

He nods and pulls at the sound of heels clicking in our direction. "Mind if I showed you your rooms?" says Effie, sounding slightly miffed again.

"Lead the way, ma'am." Gale shoots her a conciliatory smile and I attempt to do the same. Effie is by no means a friend, but she's undeniably useful. No need going out of our way to alienate her, after all, we tick her off enough just by being ourselves.

"Use both of them, please," she says after showing us our respective doors. Gale winks at me above her head. Well, we might obey the instruction, but one at a time. Effie probably notices my expression, because she adds, "C'mon, c'mon, you have half an hour to change before dinner, and you don't want to miss that."

When she turns on her heel, I pout at Gale behind her back and slip into my room. If possible, it looks even more luxurious than my compartment on the train. It's certainly a lot larger, with another plush bed and several well-equipped closets. After some rummaging, I select another simple and comfortable outfit to change into.

Curiously, I run my fingers over the glossy black material of my costume for the last time, but I'm nowhere nearer to figuring out how it worked. What magic Cinna endowed it with to make it alive with captivating flames, and what dedication had compelled him to try. I would never have expected a Hunger Games stylist to go to such length to support a rebellious project, but exceptions can obviously be found everywhere. Perhaps not everyone in the Capitol is content with the way things work, even though they seem to be working entirely in their favor. And same goes for those who have 'won' the Capitol's games.

The embers of resistance have been smoldering for who knows how long, and we are obviously supposed be the fuse. Slipping out of the fateful costume, I'm careful not to damage it, even though I guess it has already served its whole purpose, and then lay it on top of the dresser. Now it seems dead, just an empty burned out shell. I shudder at the reminder that the same fate most probably awaits me as well.


	10. The Explanation

**A/N: **Sigh.. here goes another round of apologies for being the worst updater ever. And a long-ish chapter as a peace offering? Ugh, I swear it was born legs first, but hope y'all enjoy it a bit anyway. The next will be short & lemony & SOON (dammit!).

Opening quote by Benjamin Franklin.

* * *

><p><strong>Love, Thorns, and Fire<strong>

**X.**

**The Explanation**

* * *

><p>"<em>Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead<em>."

The shower in the Training Center is even more elaborate than the one on the train, but I get it to perform the basic functions without any mishap. I allow myself to relax slightly as all the makeup used to highlight my features flows down the drain along with the sweat that had gathered under my heavy costume. The experience is nowhere near as enjoyable without Gale's company, though, so I keep it on the short side. Hopefully, we'll get another opportunity to make something of our fancy prison after dinner.

Minutes later, I navigate my way to the dining area, feeling more like myself in simple clothes, with my face clean again and a damp braid hanging down my back. I don't forget my pin, though, its weight on my chest forever reminding me to keep my guard up.

Gale is already there, looking slightly vexed in the company of our stylists and Effie, who stubbornly tries to maintain conversation. His expression brightens at the sight of me, and I feel a light sigh of relief in my hair when I settle next to him and get greeted by a kiss on my temple. I pull my chair as close to his as possible and bravely weather another storm of compliments to my fiery look, and shrug away an occasional _why so plain now, darling, you have an enviable wardrobe at your disposal!_

It's my turn to hide a sigh of relief when Haymitch finally staggers in and captures the brunt of Effie's attention. ("Always late, always, what a bad example you are setting! Again!")

His arrival also signals dinner, and I welcome both the conversation-stopper and the pleasant aromas. I hate to admit it, but the Capitol fare is way too easy to get used to. Quite the opposite goes to having my food handed to me freely by a stranger that wouldn't meet my eyes, though. I was too deep in the initial shock to pay much mind to this fact back when we've been given dinner at the train, the breakfast was a spread already prepared, and lunch appeared from a table at the press of a button, but now nothing stops me from wondering.

The servants are wearing dark red robes and solemn expressions, and they are performing their tasks so mechanically I'm almost tempted to think they are artificial (I wouldn't put that past the Capitol, and perhaps that would make the idea easier to stomach), and never venture a word or react to my shakily voiced thank-yous. Their job seems much more comfortable than, say, mining in District Twelve, but something about them seems just… off. Forlorn and deeply tortured, even more so than the life-beaten inhabitants of our dusty streets.

I exchange a glance with Gale after every course is brought in front of us, but he only frowns to mirror my confusion. Haymitch seems to pointedly avoid looking at them, Effie pays them no more mind than pieces of furniture, and our stylists look inscrutable as ever. Perhaps I could ask some of them anyway, but I always think better of it and continue the admittedly very pleasant fight to consume as much food as possible.

Only when the last course arrives, I react without even meaning to.

"Hey!"

A young woman with hair to match her uniform and delicate pale face, who'd just deposited another cake – this time snow-white – on our table, startles and momentarily withdraws a hand holding some tiny flame-tipped instrument.

"Hey," I repeat slowly when out wide-eyed stares meet. "I know you."

I've seen her only once in my life, but the memory is etched so deeply in my mind I remember her beyond a shadow of doubt. Apparently, same goes for her.

She shakes her head, though, and silently completes her task. The frosting on the cake bursts into fire, but I see only the reflection of it. Flames dance in the girl's eyes as she looks from me to Gale, and then in the glossy strands of her hair when she turns on her heel and runs.

"Wait…" Gale begins, starting after her and almost knocking the burning cake off the table. He catches himself at the last moment and sinks back into his chair. Of course he remembers too. Luckily, he also remembered that causing a commotion wouldn't be a good idea.

I lay my hand on his knee under the table and feel his answering grip, all strength and anger.

"Nonsense!" squeaks Effie, very loudly. "Nobody _knows_ an Avox," she continues, the emphasis on the word _know_ loudly stating that we _shouldn't_, and definitely shouldn't admit to it. Whoever an Avox might be.

We do know the girl, though, we've seen her from a safe hiding place in the forest few years ago. Or more exactly, watched her run through a clearing with a boy who vaguely resembled her, watched a hovercraft swoop from the sky, kill him and capture her. Watched her face frozen in a mute plea for help when she noticed us. Watched and did nothing. It was too far and too late, and we wouldn't have achieved more than sharing their fate, but the thought still rankles. We've never spoken about it directly, perhaps to avoid acknowledging the shared shame, but I've replayed the scenario in my mind countless times, forever wondering if we could have done something, and what's become of the girl. Gale apparently did so as well, he'd always frown and look up at the sky when we passed the place, and draw breath for a fresh tirade against the Capitol.

Well, now at least one of the questions has been partially answered, and the certainty brings no relief.

"What even made you think you know her?" Effie's voice cuts through my thoughts.

"She just… reminded me of someone," I say lamely.

"Well?"

"From school?" Gale tries to help, looking right at me. "Whatshername?"

Of course, I don't know everyone in the district, but after years of going to school and trading around the town and attending reapings, I'm pretty sure I've never seen a girl looking like that. I reckon mentioning a random name might be dangerous to its owner, so I just shrug silently.

"Nevermind," cuts in Haymitch and peers at us over the rim of his glass. "Guess she just looked like some loverboy's ex."

We turn as one and glare daggers at him, but he just leans back in his chair and laughs in our faces. Effie simpers, Portia dutifully joins in, and the atmosphere ostentatiously relaxes. I stroke Gale's fingers under the table to soothe him and strive to follow suit myself, but it's not that easy. I'm still counting not even trying to save the girl and her companion among our biggest failures, and meeting her here and now that we are caught ourselves is unsettling to say the least. What if someone had noticed us there and has been bidding their time ever since?

"Well, one couldn't blame him," comments Cinna and shoots us a sympathetic glance. I briefly wonder if he'd noticed the crestfallen guilt on both our faces when we looked at the girl. "Or Katniss now," he adds with a wink.

I latch myself onto Gale's arm and smirk at Cinna, trying to project a bit of gratitude through my eyes and hoping I'm doing a passable job of going along with the cover-up for our reaction. The fact that I honestly wouldn't want her lookalike for competition makes the process slightly easier. Gale squeezes my fingers reassuringly and presses his lips against the side of my head. "You don't have competition anywhere, Catnip," he whispers in my hair.

I smile at the reassurance. It's not like it mattered now that we are about to enter a _competition_ for our lives we cannot win, but it's still nice to hear.

Effie purses her lips. "Adorable. Now, let us not forget we are still at the table. And ignoring this delicacy. It's been specially made to celebrate your fiery triumph!"

I follow her gaze back to the cake I'd all but forgotten about after seeing its bringer. The shock of flames has already smoldered away, leaving a rich golden-brown crust behind. Caramel. Madge had once persuaded me to take a small package of caramel cookies as a birthday present (because otherwise I'd been too stubborn to accept anything ever, despite her well-meant efforts), and the sticky sweetness made both my and Prim's teeth ache a bit, but I smile slightly at the fond memory. Now that I had to take Prim's place here, I had to leave that kind of pride back in the room when I said goodbye, and I'm more than grateful for having such a good friend's promise to take care of her.

_And Peeta too_, I think as I take a bite of the cake. Of course, he wouldn't be able to afford giving Prim cakes, actually, he'd be lucky if he manages to sneak anything past his mother without punishment, but I wouldn't make light of his offer either.

It's something I can't even think about repaying, and even as I am warming up to the thought that selfless help is not something to be traded and bartered, it's already too late. Gale brings me back to the present by lightly rubbing my shoulder and meets my eyes with an almost imperceptible nod. He couldn't have read my thoughts, but I guess it wasn't hard to figure out my vacant stare meant I'm thinking of home. And he knows as well as I do we can't afford to get lost in such thoughts now.

The switch to present also brought back Effie's voice in full volume, currently urging us to hurry to see the recap of the parade. Stuffing one more large bite of the cake into my mouth, I rise from the table and let Gale wrap an arm around my waist as we fall in step behind our escort.

* * *

><p>We settle on a couch in the TV lounge just as the first chariot rides out. I don't feel much like reliving the spectacle, but we can't escape it without irritating Effie too much. Plus, it <em>is<em> another chance to assess both the audience and our fellow tributes. Of course, I've seen the parade on TV every year, but I've always done my best not to pay attention, and the impression is different after having physically felt the hysteria of the Capitol streets.

The excitement starts off on high note, with the proud jeweled and armored pairs on the first two chariots absorbing it and radiating it back, either through gleaming grins or smoldering resolve. The Careers seem to be having time of their lives, and it's somehow understandable, because this is what they've spent long years preparing for and one of them might as well win... but it also isn't, because _only one_ of them _might_ win. The kids from Three after them smile and wave robotically to match their costumes, and Fours in dazzling scales try their best to fish some appreciation for the last Career district.

The pairs are standing well apart, each person for themselves. There's not much individuality in that, though. We are all dressed in district-specific costumes, like a parade of spoils marched into the Capitol. All succumbing to the pull of the crowd that draws even the most scared faces into grins and lifts the hands in instinctive pleas for attention that can get one only so far. That's how it always happens, we fall divided until only one remains standing. I can't help but wonder whether nobody really tried to reverse it, or if the attempts just haven't lasted long enough to be noticed. At least until now.

Even though they were only one chariot before us, the uneven pair from Eleven had been too far ahead, so I make a point of observing them now. The little girl had captured my attention during the reaping recap and the more I looked at her since, the more she reminded me of my own sister. Innocence to be protected. Her large companion obviously thought the same, because he laid a protective hand on her back, his fingers splaying almost from shoulder to shoulder. He stood above her motionless as a rock while she waved her whole arm, dark skin and cotton-fibery white sleeve melting into one like a fluttering wing. _Like a living mockingjay wing_, I can't help but think.

The noise of the crowd lulls a little, some pausing as if contemplating what they see.

Not for long, though.

Gale squeezes my hand tightly as we watch ourselves roll in, raise our joined arms and burst into fire. Diverting all attention to us, our flagrant show of defiance, and our gleaming mockingjays. From what I've noticed, we are the only tributes wearing our tokens. I'd bet the screaming crowd is oblivious to them, but they are visible enough on the screen.

Away and apart from the excitement, seeing ourselves as pieces of the bigger picture, I can hardly recognize us for who we are, but one thing is clear: our stylists' trick to single us out has most definitely worked. Bitterly, I wonder why _us_… it's not like we matter the most. If I were to pick anyone to save, I'd pick the little girl…

Gale leans in and presses his lips against my cheek as we watch it, and I smile tensely to acknowledge him, but my eyes never leave the screen. I watch myself burn the rose. Most probably singling myself out _not_ to be saved.

As the anthem begins to play, another silent red-garbed servant pushes a tray with glasses full of sparkling bubbles under our noses. I don't quite trust them, but anything is better than re-watching the President's speech. Even Effie urges us to take the offer and we do so, before following her lead and carefully clinking the glasses with hers and our stylists', and in Haymitch's case, with a another bottle full of clear liquid.

We are toasting to our success, or so they say. Well, in Twelve, we don't have fancy drinks like this, or the pretty glasses to hold them, and the word 'toasting' holds a completely different meaning for us. I meet Gale's eyes over the rim of our glasses as we carefully clink them, but drop my gaze when he gives me a little wink.

I pretend to study the liquid in the glass, something called champagne, and let the alcohol-scented bubbles tickle my nose before deciding it's probably safer to drink that whatever Haymitch had given us yesterday. I have to admit it tastes quite nice, and makes Effie's incessant chatter somehow easier to pretend-listen to. By the time I finish the glass, I'm considering getting another one, but a hand on my elbow stops me.

"C'mon, lightweights, enough practice for one day. Let's go get some fresh air," says Haymitch, ushering me back to Gale and leading the way out.

"Pleez excuuse us!" he drawls towards Effie, earning himself an exaggerated eye-roll.

I raise my eyebrows at Gale, but he just shrugs, even though he looks hopeful. Is there a way out?

* * *

><p>Disappointingly, our mentor doesn't lead us down and out, but higher still, up a flight of stairs and through what looks like a trapdoor. It doesn't lead to freedom, but quite a good illusion thereof: we find ourselves in a big garden on the roof, carefully arranged and trimmed, but still full of comfortably normal green things. The air is fresh indeed, rustling through tree branches and clinking in delicate windchimes.<p>

We exchange a look behind Haymitch's back. Noise. Good. So he might tell us something important.

We follow him to a banister on the edge, where the wind blows the loudest. Haymitch turns and leans on it with his elbows, and we settle on either side of him, stealing curious glances down. The Training Centre towers over the surrounding buildings, giving us a spectacular view of the Capitol streets bathed in a pool of artificial light. Good hundred yards below us. No escape this way, then. _Unless we could fly like the mockingjays_, I think wistfully.

Gale frowns down, and then at Haymitch. "So, got any advice now?"

"Firstly, no talking to the Avoxes. It's not like they could talk back anyway. Have you met the girl where I think you have?"

I can tell he's not really expecting an answer, we all know we could have only met her outside the district. "Yeah. What are the Avoxes, anyway?"

"Let's say people who've lost their voices," says Haymitch, running his tongue along his teeth before clamping them shut. "For having used them too much, obviously."

The thought makes me shudder, but also rouses my curiosity. The law enforcement in our district is (luckily!) quite lax, but still, I've never heard about that happening to anyone near us. That would mean…

"People from here?" Gale voices my thought, still frowning.

"From here," nods Haymitch. "Dissenters. Supposed traitors. There's more of them than you'd think by now. But in this case I'd say escapees."

So the Capitol isn't _only_ the cheering crowds. If there are more people willing to rebel just on principle…

"Why don't they do anything, then?" says Gale through gritted teeth. "If they are just watching like all the other idiots…" He trails off and slams his fist into the railing. We've just been given a very good reason why they shouldn't be found out, so he changes direction, his voice rising steadily. "And where'd they even run to? Only idiots would go running _to_ Twelve. And if there was anywhere else to go-"

"Not now, kid." Haymitch glares at him, but Gale refuses to let the subject drop.

"Then when? We'll be in the arena in three days. And even if they somehow knew we've seen her out there," he continues, very quietly now, "they got us alright."

"So they did, kids," agrees Haymitch. "You weren't as good as you think."

We exchange an uneasy glance.

"In fact, you were supposed to go in last year, but we managed to postpone that." Haymitch whispers. "Ol' Undersee got his last warning the night before this reaping, though." He waits for me to nod. I do and so does Gale. That's what we partly suspected, but the worst part of the question remains unanswered.

"Why let Prim get reaped, if it was supposed to be me all along?" I hiss, doing my best to keep both volume and venom from my voice. I guess I'm successful only as far as the first is concerned.

"That was the argument. One more year, worse punishment. But one that could send a message both ways, if the odds were in our favor."

"So you counted on me volunteering?" _Otherwise what?_ Would Prim have gone into the Games to punish me for the crime of doing my very best to keep her alive? I want to scream, but I know I can't, and the bile rising in my throat all but chokes me anyway.

Haymitch clenches his jaw and looks right into my eyes. "We dared to _hope_, Sweetheart." I can't even begin to read the jumble of emotions he lets shine through his usual mask, but the way the spits out the word _hope_ is telling enough. I take a deep breath, the windbells ringing softly in my ears. It doesn't really matter now. I'm already here, Prim is not. But why the hell would anyone put their hopes into me?

"Who are the 'we'…?" Gale cuts in.

"People thinking your attitude might be of some use on TV -" mutters Haymitch from behind his bottle and takes a deep swig.

"So why haven't you told us anything?" Gale bursts out, voice rising dangerously, hands clenching the top of the banister in white-knuckled grip. "If you wanted us to play games for you, you could've at least-"

Haymitch shuts him up by a casual backhand in the ribs and turns to me. "Look, if you want your boy to make it to the Arena in one piece, you should teach him when to shut the hell up."

"It's not like they'll be picking another set of tributes now," growls Gale, but doesn't even try to retaliate, even though Haymitch ostentatiously faces me, presenting an easy target. He knows as well as I do that trying to fighting our mentor wouldn't help our case at all, but he takes lessons in patience even harder than I do, so I commend him for the effort.

Glaring at Haymitch, I move to Gale's side – just in case - and stroke the back of his hand until he eases his immediate stranglehold on my waist. "I don't want him to go to the Arena at all. I don't want _anyone_ to go there," I say as softly as I can manage to.

"That's the spirit, Sweetheart," says Haymitch and mockingly raises the bottle he took along. "But one's gotta be patient with that. Now tell me, what would you give to achieve it?"

I think about the six reapings Prim has left to endure. About the seven reapings each of Gale's siblings has left. About every schoolmate that ever went to the Games, about everyone I've been forced to watch die on the screen. And most importantly, the fact that we are here now, and playing against the game is the best of the worst choices we have left.

"Everything." We say it at once, without consulting. Of course we have to.

Haymitch nods sagely. "Nice, that might help."

"Whatever you are _hoping_ for, it doesn't involve either of us getting out, does it?" says Gale. His grip on me tightens again, his arm encasing my ribcage in a vice-like grip and fingers almost painfully digging into my stomach. The fierce desire to protect me seems to resonate in every beat of his heart, or maybe I'm just imagining it because I feel exactly the same way towards him.

_It's us_, I tell myself with a deep breath. _But better us than Prim or Rory or Vick or Posy…_

"You can't really save anyone who goes in there. Neither can I, or any other mentor," says Haymitch evasively, once more opting to stare into his bottle instead of at us. Is that easier for him? I wouldn't be surprised. "The Games take you, it doesn't matter if they pull you outta the arena breathing or not. Don't forget it, even when you make allies."

He certainly makes it sound as if becoming or helping someone else to become a Victor wasn't a good idea at all. Well, come to think of it, most of the kids half-heartedly reciting their lines when they stopped in our district during the Victory Tour seemed anything but happy about their luck, even victorious Careers who parroted the Capitol propaganda with genuine zeal usually looked somehow _beaten_ after half a year of the glorified life after the Games. I've never saw then too close and personally, but the impression was pretty unmistakable even for me.

Thinking back to our odd meeting with Johanna, now free of the jealousy that pretty much blinded me when I saw her stare at Gale, I suspect she was trying to warn us against sharing her fate. From what I remember, she's only few years older than Gale, but hidden behind the mischief I found so damn annoying, something in her eyes looked older than death.

And first and foremost, here is our very own Haymitch, always hell-bent on turning the spoils of his victory into the strongest liquor he can lay his hands on, a living proof that it isn't what's cracked up to be.

"You never win as long as their rules are in place. Just look at me," Haymitch says, confirming my thoughts. He breaks off a twig and tosses it over the banister. It doesn't fall far, though, after few feet, it seems to encounter some invisible barrier in mid-air, and an odd sizzling sound later, the twig bounces back, falling to his feet. Haymitch laughs dryly, takes a swig from his bottle, and strides off.

Surprisingly, Gale makes no move to follow him and coax more information out of him, but stares intently at the smoking twig, and then out over the banister.

_So not even a bird would escape here_, I think suddenly.

Shifting in Gale's embrace, I weave my arms around his neck, my fingers slipping into his hair as he bends down to me.

"So where does this leave us?" I whisper into his ear.

He shrugs against me, bringing his lips to my ear. "Pretty much where we started."

"He hasn't even told us what to do."

"It's pretty obvious we should somehow ally with the Elevens. For starters."

"Yeah. If we were to save anyone, I'd want to save the girl. Whatever Haymitch says. She…" My voice breaks a little and Gale strokes my back, his grip on me relaxing from fierce to tender. "She reminds me of Prim." A Prim with nobody to volunteer for her...

"I know. And when we do ally, we can't break it off, not like everyone else before." I nod. Career and non-Career alliances alike, we've never seen one last. In the end, the one Victor rule drove everyone apart and to death. "Maybe then it could actually mean something… that they can't divide us... whatever they do..." Then I feel him turn his head to the side again, looking out. "Have you ever seen Haymitch's Games?" he asks.

"What?" I pull apart to frown at him, put off by the sudden change of topic. "Come to think of it, never."

Gale presses me closer and whispers in my ear again. "Me neither. But he and Dad used to be friends… long ago. He told me about it. Soon before…"

"Yeah," I half-sob against him. I know very well what he's talking about.

"He used some kind of forcefield that was around the arena. Like our fence but invisible, see, like around here. He threw his weapon off what looked like an edge of an abyss and it came flying back and killed his last opponent. So he won. But the Capitol obviously didn't like the trick. Dad said Haymitch's mom and brother and girlfriend got killed soon after he got back. And I figured they never really talked anymore after that… Dad sounded damn… ashamed about that. "

Ignoring the last sentence, I dig my nails into his shoulders. "Hey, what if they… if we do something… what if…" I can't even bring myself to say it aloud, but I know I don't need to. "Was this why Madge and even Darius tried to reassure me? But what could they do?"

Gale gently pries my hands from his shirt and leans his forehead against mine. He's not looking into my eyes and his whisper is lead-heavy. The wind picks up, whipping loose strands of my hair around our faces, hiding our lips from view. "We'll have to trust them. If we could… if we could help make sure the kids won't have to go through reapings anymore… dammit so many of them and we wouldn't be able to help at all…" He trails off and finally looks me in the eyes. "And… and… I guess if we fail, there would be no need to punish anyone if we don't make it out."

I shiver in his arms, I don't even know if it's from the cooling night air or dread or both. "Yeah."

On impulse, I touch his face, brushing my thumb over his lower lip, feeling his warm breath. It's only slowly sinking in how damn _unthinkable_ the notion is. Right now, on the verge of life…

Gale captures my hand in his and presses a kiss into my palm. "But I'm not giving up on you either," he whispers.

"On us," I correct him softly.

"On us. Not while I breathe."

I can't help but smile a little. I don't even know what it is about him, about us, that makes me hope against all hope. But it is there, and that's what matters.


	11. The Defiance

**A/N:** Short & somewhat dirty as promised, and later than anticipated, but I guess the timing can pass for soon by my terrible standards. Enjoy.

Opening quote by T. S. Eliot. I freaking love it.

* * *

><p><strong>Love, Thorns, and Fire<strong>

**XI.**

**The Defiance**

_A toothache, or a violent passion, is not necessarily diminished by our knowledge of its causes, its character, its importance or insignificance._

* * *

><p>Some things are easier said than done, volunteering for the Hunger Games included. Saying the fateful words when I saw the Peacekeepers reaching for my little sister was the most natural thing to do, I would have done it thousand times over just like I would have ran into a burning building or jumped into a flood or thrown myself in front of a firing squad just to make sure no harm becomes her.<p>

Only now I'm beginning to see how difficult it's going to be to live up to them, and to make dying up to them matter enough. Because laying down the one life I have won't be enough to guarantee Prim's safety for longer than a year, and neither would winning the Games in the usual manner. Only some kind of change could really ensure her a future I'd consider good enough. With whatever mad scheme Haymitch has cooked up, we might have a shot at that, but how do we even play a game within a game without him telling us what to do?

The thoughts keep swirling in my head as we follow in the footsteps of our mentor and make our way downstairs, hand in hand. The distinct smell of Haymitch's bottle lingers in the air, and I can't help but wonder how daft are we to trust someone who spends a good portion of his time totally hammered. Haymitch made pretty clear during our first talk on the train that he uses alcohol to deal with things, whatever he feels about mentoring two kids doomed to death every year included, but I don't see it working for me. The drinks I've had seemed to only make my feelings more raw and intense, and I find it more difficult to see sense through the slight fog in my mind. I guess Haymitch would only laugh and say I haven't had enough.

We faintly hear him exchange a few words with Effie down on our floor, and almost collide with our disgruntled escort as we emerge from the stairwell.

"Oh, here you are!" she hiccups over the sound of her heels clicking to a slightly unsteady stop. "At least I didn't have to go up there to get you." Well, the combination of her heels and a few glasses of champagne might have been really disastrous on the stairs. I try not to think about it and, more importantly, not to laugh. "Go get a good rest, it's a big, big, big day tomorrow!"

We nod with muttered goodnights.

"The days just keep getting bigger, don't they?" Gale whispers few steps later.

"Own rooms!" Effie calls after us, a little louder than necessary, at least as far as my buzzing head is concerned. She doesn't wait to see us there, though, and disappears behind her own door. I guess she can tell we're not intending to obey her anyway.

Gale opens and closes the door to his room, very loudly and pointedly, and I flinch even as I smirk at the puerile gesture. Then I smile genuinely and tug him towards my own.

The door opens before I reach for the knob, and the silent red-haired girl walks out, cradling my burned-out parade costume in her arms.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out as we stop dead face to face, before giving any thought to Haymitch's advice not to talk to her, and the fact she won't be able to answer anyway. My tongue seems to shrivel in my mouth when I do.

"Me too," says Gale, squeezing my hand. "For... um, for leaving… things," he gestures uncertainly to the costume, "there like that."

We all know he isn't talking about parade costumes at all. The girl nods, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly, and then pushes past us with her head bowed.

We stare after her until she disappears around the corner – just like we've watched her once before, disappearing beyond help. One more failure, one more reason to give whatever we can for _change_.

It's so little – after all, we are just two kids from the Seam, just like so many before us, two little drops about to fall into the sea of death. Just like the two who went before us, both kids from the community home that have been far unluckier than us after the mining explosion that took our fathers. Have they died instead of us last year, just so that we can be singled out now?

But it's also so much – everything we have individually and together, for the hope that we will start a rain that changes the color of the sea. We'll have to dissolve there, though, and that thought is hard to bear when we're still solid and holding onto each other.

I tug at Gale's hand and pull him to my room, closing the door after us.

I wish there was a lock, but no such luck.

* * *

><p>We make our way straight to the bathroom, together to spare time. It's hot and steamy, and smells incredibly clean.<p>

Do the girl's duties also involve scrubbing the bathroom for me?

I shudder slightly and veer towards the sink to splash some water onto my face, but before I do, the mirror catches my attention and swings my mood back to the opposite pole. The glass is covered by a white layer of fog, interrupted by a line of small finger-drawn letters.

THERE WAS NOTHING TO DO

THEN

"Hey. . . "

Gale turns sharply and curses under his breath. After giving him a few seconds to process it, I reach over and quickly wipe the message away. I dare to believe it was evidence enough to confirm the bathroom is not monitored, but just in case.

"It's true, you know," Gale whispers, wrapping an arm around my waist.

"I know." I splay my hand over his heart and deflate against him. We also know it implies we can do something now, even though trying to break out from here and escape with her is obviously not the answer.

Our reflection in the mirror is slightly distorted by the remaining droplets of condensation, and we look nothing like the fiery apparitions from the parade. We're just plain old us. We mean the world to each other - especially now that we've been ripped away from everything else. I don't quite understand how can we mean hope for change to the desensitized world we live in, but I have _felt_ it on the chariot, and I believe the audacity will return when needed.

Now I don't even feel like facing my own mockingjay-pinned reflection, though, and pull Gale back to the room and away from the wiped message. For a moment, I just want to hide.

I kick off my shoes and pants, and dive under the covers of the bed. Gale follows suit and I bury my head in his chest as soon as he lays down beside me.

"I'm okay," I reassure him, and myself too. "Just need a minute."

"As many as you want," he whispers into my hair, slowly running his fingers through my conditioned tresses.

The slow, sensual motion easily reminds me how I'd vaguely planned to drag Gale into the shower and have my way with him. Moments later, I'm already unbuttoning his shirt, wanting to feel more of him, to have him even closer. Shifting across him, I press my nose and lips against his skin, desperate for a hint of his intimately familiar scent and taste, desperate to confirm he's still mine despite the claims being laid from all sides.

Of course he is.

Under the slightly softer texture of his skin, his lean muscles tense under my touch and the heartbeat accelerating against my cheek feels as comforting and _right_ as ever. For a moment, the only thought I can focus on is how much I don't want it to cease, for whatever reason. I just can't help it, however stupid and selfish it might be.

One of Gale's hands slips into my hair to press my face closer, fingers tangling in the loose silky locks as if striving to return them to their usual disheveled state, to get lost in them and never to return. The other caresses my body, running along my side and over the bare thigh I'd wrapped around his hips, and then up again to slip under the hem of my shirt to reacquaint with my changed skin.

I inhale his scent; its deepest essence miraculously unchanged even after all the proceedings we've gone through. I can still smell the lazy hours I'd spent curled against him in our woods, now even more precious, because I know there will be no more of them. My hand wanders over Gale's torso, reclaiming every inch of skin I can reach. The spark of the anger I'd felt when I knew there were strangers touching him flares back up. I don't even know if the prep teams are with us or against us or clueless by default or clueless on purpose, all I can discern in the confusing mess is instinctive resentment for what they represent.

"I want to put them in their place," I whisper into Gale's skin. I don't suppose there would be microphones in the immediate vicinity of the bed - we are probably the first pair of tributes to ever share it and I guess the Capitol audience doesn't care to hear their toys screaming in nightmares or whining for their families (because that might make them seem _too_ human), but caution is still in order.

"Me too," Gale whispers into my hair, but I hear his voice rumbling in chest, the gentle vibrations coursing through my body. "I wanted to hurt them. Every time I thought about what they must be doing to you."

"It's not really their fault. But I wanted that too. Not particularly the idiots who plucked me clean. Just… on principle. For doing this to you… to us… to everyone. For thinking they _own us._" My hand moves downwards as I speak, tracing the muscle-lines of his stomach. If he belongs to anyone, it's _me_, and vice-versa. I like it that way, and Gale obviously does too.

"I'm with you there." His voice is raw with desire, for me and for _something to do_ in equal measure, I guess. But the only action he can really take now is with me, and I'm more than fine with that. The hand under my shirt journeys upwards again, tender but possessive fingers fighting my bra aside to claim what's rightfully theirs. I flex into a tight arch as he squeezes my breasts, my hips grinding against Gale's leg, and my torso leaning backwards to give him more room to maneuver. Hot currents of pleasure course through my body, meandering downwards. Gale's fingers eventually follow them, tickling the soft skin of my stomach and eliciting a shiver of pleasure.

My head is beginning to spin, but I'm not letting Gale get too far ahead. His breath hitches audibly when my fingers slip under the elastic waistband of his pants and journey down to confirm all my suspicions. Of course, in a few days' time, the audience will get to see everything, because some needs can't be avoided, not even in the arena, and I suppose everything has to be up to their beauty standards.

It's not like I detested the result. On the contrary, I can't keep my hand away from the perfectly smooth skin and caress every inch as if I wanted to wipe the fingerprints of the perpetrators away, smiling into the covers that hide most of my face as I feel him react. I'm already very confident I can bring about _this_ kind of uprising. If only everything was that easy…

"They are watching us, right?" Gale mutters, words jumbling distractedly as my fingers curl tightly around his already hard length.

"Probably yeah," I whisper, just as breathless under his touch.

"Oh, fuck them."

His voice is low and dangerous, easily chasing away most of my reservations. (And we are under the covers, anyway). My hesitation disappears altogether when Gale carefully slips two fingers inside me, one after another, touching me more intimately than anyone ever did (and than anyone ever would, I promise myself). Buckling against his touch, I roll onto my back, parting my legs a bit more to allow him better access. I tighten my hand around him, moving it up and down with increasing speed. We hand each other a bit of solace and pleasure in the suffocating darkness under the covers, hopefully concealed from all lenses poised to steal everything we are.

The pleasure is already threatening to overwhelm me when Gale's fingers slide to a stop and wrap around my hips instead. I let go of him in my surprise and he uses the moment to roll me over and pull my panties down to my knees, effectively trapping my legs together.

My whimper of protest turns into a satisfied moan as he fumbles his way inside me from behind, his body spooned close against mine, hand resting heavily on my thigh to press my legs closed, making the tight fit almost painful. I squeeze my muscles impulsively, but the spasm only adds to the vivid delight. The sensation of our bodies becoming one is still raw, new and fascinating. I can't even imagine such pleasure becoming commonplace, and even if it could, it never will, not for us. We won't have enough time. My throat clenches and eyes sting at the overwhelming bittersweetness of it all, fingers reflexively seeking Gale's hand and holding on for dearest life.

Luckily, we at least have means of dispelling the thought.

I sigh in bliss as Gale slides his other arm below my body, his large hand splaying over my chest and pulling me even closer to his, sweat gluing our skin together. Half-turning my head, I find his lips to connect us as completely as possible, our tongues caressing each other in tune with the pulse of our joined hips. Warmth floods me from inside out as we melt together, the friction fueling a fire that is only ours, invisible yet unquenchable. It burns brightly in the darkness and explodes behind my lids as our pace increases and I instinctively tug Gale's hand between my thighs, coaxing him to touch the trigger. He does, rubbing me over the edge with his fingers even as he slides out. I squeeze him between my thighs as tightly as I can and we ride out the waves of pleasure together, our bodies twisting and writhing in a single spasm.

After, we scoot away from the wet spot - the bed is huge enough anyway, and lay between the sweaty sheets, sandwiched in a tight embrace. Our breaths and heartbeats synchronize without conscious effort, we feel like two parts of one being, meant to live or die together.

Frankly, I'd rather live.

Life feels too good to give up right now.


	12. The Preparation

Ikr, 's been too long. I'm a mess that forgot how to write and I'm sorry. Here goes another pointless little step forward. Thank y'all for sticking with me.

Opening quote by Sun Tzu.

* * *

><p><strong>Love, Thorns, and Fire<strong>

**XII.**

**The Preparation**

_The opportunity to secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself._

* * *

><p>The night is long and anything but peaceful. We keep subconsciously pawing at each other as if to make sure we are still together, and waking each other with the sudden movements. However in tune we are when awake, we aren't used to actually sleeping together yet… but keep snuggling closer even at the risk of our tangled limbs falling asleep before we do.<p>

My consciousness does fully ebb at some point though, and my sleeping mind somehow mashes yesterday's tribute parade with the grisliest memories from past games.

But it's not our supposed opponents reenacting the scenes. It's always us, Gale and I. An endless stream of our lookalikes, all in sets of awkward district-specific costumes, fighting to the death.

Dying by our own hand or each other's - eyes frozen gray pools of horror and bodies moving in a dance of death, as fluidly and inevitably as if we were making love. We are unable to resist, unable to stop all the past death reaching into our future.

Until we appear naked and covered in coaldust, empty fingers extended like claws and locking around each other's throats. A spark is born somewhere in the friction, spreading along our limbs and engulfing both our bodies in blinding fire.

Gasping, I open my eyes, but the glare doesn't go away, burning more than ever.

It takes a moment to realize the first sunrays have finally broken through the night, reaching me even behind closed eyelids.

I'm not on fire.

I guess.

I'm just surrounded in heat, in a tangle of sheets and skin and half-discarded sweaty clothes. I turn around frantically, my palms patting along Gale's body, my breath gradually calming as I make sure he's unhurt and unburned.

It takes him just few seconds to stir, and capture my hands against his chest without as much as opening his eyes.

"Hey, Catnip, slow down," he mutters, sleepy face spreading into a smile.

I try to answer, but only a choked sound escapes my tight throat. Probably an alarming one, because Gale finally jolts fully awake and his eyes immediately focus to fix me with a concerned stare. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I mutter, "just a nightmare."  
>"Bad?"<p>

"Worse." I slide my hands to his shoulders and sink against him, my face turned to the window. The morning sun is burning the dream-images away already, and I don't want Gale to ask and make me recall them.

He doesn't, just wraps his arms around me, one hand sliding down my messy braid to the small of my back. "Wanna chase it away?"

His body is pressed so tightly against mine I don't need to guess how. I muffle a snort in his shoulder. It's almost ridiculous how our minds changed track from stealing means of survival to stealing last few moments of living. But considering how screwed we already are - and have always been, I guess we've just kept too busy to acknowledge it – is there anything better is to do?

I wiggle lightly against him, enjoying how his heartbeat immediately picks up pace. "Sure. But not here." I feel too uncomfortably exposed in the light, and we've made enough mess in the bed already. Whoever is to deal with our dirty sheets, they are not someone to exact petty revenge on.

Gale mutters in protest, his hands all over my body almost coaxing me to change my mind, but he eventually lets me push away from him. I readjust my clothes and rise, waiting for Gale to join me before yanking the sheet that caught most of our nightly fun off the bed.

I ignore Gale's questioning look and carry the sheet to the bathroom with me, throwing it down the trash chute. I do my best not to look into the mirror.

"There we go," Gale remarks with a wry grin.

I just bite my lip and step closer, leaning my forehead against his chest. "I guess we should stick to the shower from now on," I mutter noncommittally.

"Fine by me." There's a hint of laughter in his voice, but I can tell he senses how upset I am, and tries to comfort me without making me acknowledge it aloud. His hands slide down my back to my hips, carefully pressing me closer to gauge if I'm still in the mood. I push his open shirt from his shoulders in response. I'm irrationally keen to get us into the water, just to make completely sure we won't burst into flames if we keep touching.

Gale cooperates eagerly, so we get there in a matter of moments. I throw my head back and let the tepid drops wash my face and trickle down my parched throat. Then I tense slightly as I feel Gale's hands reaching for me from behind. One wraps around my waist, and the other slides along my jaw and down my neck, adding a bit of playful pressure there. If it weren't for the dream, I'd find it only exciting, but for a crazy split of a second, I find myself half expecting his strong fingers to dig into my flesh with lethal force.

But his touch is warm and safe and familiar. Trustworthy.

Almost embarrassed for the nag of doubt, I melt against him and forget it, seeking joy in the last tangible certainty I have left. I find it easily, somewhere in the zero space between our wet bodies and in the silent rhythm of our hips, and then in his heartbeat hammering against my cheekbone as we catch breath in each other's arms.

I feel tiny in Gale's embrace - with my head just reaching the top of his shoulder, and his large hands cradling my body like a doll - but comfortable in my own strength. However good it feels to be attached, we are a perfect team when detached too, balancing each other out to create something more powerful than the sum of the parts.

We'll need that more than ever.

/

Soon after we reluctantly pull our rumpled shirts and underwear back on (_hey, they aren't _that_ bad yet!_) and drag ourselves from the bathroom, there's a series of vigorous knocks on the door.

"Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big day!" Effie throws the door open with a flourish and stops short, looking from my flushed face to Gale sprawled back on my bed just in a shirt and boxers. I guess she went to wake me first and hadn't noticed his absence in his own room yet. And we've been considerately quiet this time too.

_Well, that's what she gets for not waiting to be called in_.

"Oh. I see you are already up."

"Back down too, don't worry," Gale informs her. Our shower activity obviously put him in a very good mood.

I bite back a laugh and a comment about _big, big_ things.

"Your training uniforms will be brought to your rooms shortly. I suggest you pay a visit to your own, young man." Effie pointedly glares somewhere above Gale's head a purses her lips. "Pants on," she adds when he stands up from the bed, trousers carelessly clutched in his hand._ "Please_."

It sounds desperate enough to make Gale comply in silence. He even puts his shoes on.

"Breakfast starts in twenty minutes, your mentor promised he'll be waiting for you," continues Effie, in a tone she's obviously struggling to keep neutral. She makes it sound like a huge accomplishment of hers, but knowing Haymitch, it might as well be. "So at least have the decency not to be _late_. Again."

"We won't," I mutter, suddenly feeling almost ungrateful.

She nods, unreadable eyes shielded with long plastic lashes, turns on her heel and stalks off.

Gale shoots me a grin and takes off a moment after her.

/

Before I can wish against it happening, the red-haired Avox girl slips into the room with an armful of my standard-issue training uniform.

She sets it on the bedside table and moves to tidy the jumble of sheets that's left of the bed.

I spring to action and tug a sheet out of her hand. "No, please, leave it. I… I'll… " I stutter. "I'll manage."

She shakes her head lightly and tilts it towards the bathroom, and then firmly gestures towards the training uniform.

"Uh… okay… thank you… I'm sorry," I say lamely. I've kept my tongue so far, but embarrassment seems to have taken my speech almost as completely as Capitol scalpels.

I snatch the garments and take them to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of my flushed face in the mirror. The message in the steam is long-since wiped away, but it's etched into my mind.

I'm here to manage more important things than stained sheets.

/

True to Effie's word, Haymitch is already waiting with her at the breakfast table, ignoring her and morosely spiking his juice with clear liquid form a tiny flask. Gale must have arrived moments before me and is already busy loading his plate. I quickly follow suit and we join the table, sitting on either side of our mentor and across from each other. We can communicate a lot just by exchanging looks, and that will be necessary if we are to discuss any strategy.

Haymitch doesn't seem all that eager yet, just acknowledges our presence with an unenthusiastic tilt of the head. Between the three of us, calling the morning good would just make it worse, so we just return the nod and busy ourselves with our plates. Keeping our mouths too full to indulge Effie's attempts at conversation and hoping she'll leave us alone for a while before deciding it's time to usher us to the training. Eventually, she does give up on us "taciturn Seam kids" – Haymitch included –, and clops away with a dainty cup of coffee.

"So what do we do?" says Gale at once, nearly unintelligibly. He swallows a big mouthful of food. "Apart from staying alive and being fucking polite about it." Effie has tried to give us plenty of advice on that matter, but minding our manners won't help with Gamemakers and tributes trying to kill us.

Haymitch sets his glass down and stifles a burp into the back of his hand. "Well, now. You have two and a half days – no miracles are gonna happen in that time, but it's plenty to shape up. You get into fights much?" he asks with a smirk.

I shake my head. We both have a few scars from run-ins with wild dogs, but come to think of it, I've never exchanged blows with a person. Whatever some townsfolk have to say about our behavior, conflicts in the Seam aren't that common –if nothing else, we are too united by common misery to waste energy by turning on each other. Besides, I have always been careful and evasive, and somehow tacitly respected.

And lately, always in Gale's safe company. He shrugs with a deep frown. "Not that much. And never with a knife." He didn't care about the townies' wrestling team and got by just fine on his natural strength and agility if a schoolboy or Hob argument came to blows. Sometimes, I kissed his bruises after, with enough pressure to make him wince slightly in pain, to remind him not to get into trouble. Even though his quick temper sometimes got the best of him, he checked it enough not to risk attention from a wrong Peacekeeper.

Now it all just makes us seem awfully inexperienced. Especially compared to kids who've been training to fight their entire lives. We exchange a dark, uneasy glance.

"Never too late to learn, I guess," Gale snarls in Haymitch's direction

Would we have somehow prepared had we known beforehand that we are meant to wind up here? Was there any way to do it without arousing suspicion? We were busy enough with illegal activities as it was. And busy taking care of our families.

Haymitch waves the accusation aside. "Sure you're right, kid. Do spend some quality time at the hand-to-hand combat station. Both of you. And pick some weapons too – no time to make sword masters out of ya, but get a hang of what you can handle. You never know what you'll manage to grab later on." Gale is still glaring at him, so he adds, "C'mon, you know skill with weapons isn't everything. Shit happens."

True enough. As we've seen in the past years, sometimes even prodigious Careers succumbed to betrayal and ingenuity, or the frantic, instinctive strength of untrained tributes. I blink to dispel a few quick memories of hands, bloodied and shaking, crushing skulls and ribcages with makeshift weapons. Rock, bricks, clubs. Clawing with bare hands and chipped nails. I know I'll do my very best to avoid ending up like that, but the realization that I _might_ find myself fighting for my life just as desperately in a few days makes the memories disgustingly real.

I shouldn't, though. If anyone is indeed supposed to look up to us and find any hope, losing humanity to ensure survival is out of question. I'll have to make sure it doesn't come to that. I feel Gale stretch his leg under the table, lightly nudging mine. _We_'ll have to.

"Besides." Haymitch pulls his chair closer, deliberately scraping the floor as loudly as possible. We take the hint and follow suit, creating some noise to cover his next words. "The other kids aren't the real enemies there."

We nod in unison. We've gathered that much already. Hard to tell to what extent it applies to those who have volunteered to go there for other reasons than I did and would probably kill us without batting an eye just to get to the victor's crown, though. And what to do with the rest, since Haymitch has already told us we can't really save them.

If he wanted us to unite everyone, or at least everyone but the Careers, and persuade them not to fight, or to join effort and fight our way out of the arena, Gale and I definitely wouldn't be the best people for the job. There would be better choices in our district, perhaps Madge, pretty and kind and composed, or Peeta, eloquent and always with a smile to spare. The thought of either of them going to the arena appalls me, though, not as much as in Prim's case but still. It wouldn't be their environment, and since it's us who've been chosen, not their kind of fight.

"Be careful about making both friends and enemies," Haymitch continues. "At first just watch and wait and figure out what and how could work. You already know you're gonna be prime targets, right?"

Another nod. After our display at the tribute parade, definitely. Gale looks from Haymitch to me, grim but reassuring. I do my best to reciprocate the reassuring part before returning my attention to our mentor.

"The most important things you gotta do are, outsmart and outsurvive. You should be good at that."

For that, the last five years of our lives have prepared us pretty well – we can get far and fast on little nourishment and in pretty much any weather our region can throw at us, hunt and cooperate as a perfect team, and make the most of what nature has to offer. But that still would be of little help if we ended up in a tundra or a desert or an abandoned town … or if I couldn't get my hands on a bow. We'd scrape by better than many, but in our element, we'd excel and show the Capitol we can survive even without their sponsor gifts.

Gale shrugs. "We do what we have to." I can tell Haymitch's vagueness is grating on him. He's playing with a butter knife, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the handle.

"For too long," I add, stretching my hand across the table. Gale immediately lets the knife clatter onto his empty plate and entwines his fingers with mine.

Haymitch sneers at the gesture, at least I think that's the cause, and downs the rest of his spiked juice. "Unfortunately, you do. But at least you've been prepared a bit, huh? " His voice drops so low we have to lean in to catch the rest. "Before certain someones kinda... _blew_ their cover."

"What?!" I almost yell.

For a moment, my only answer is silence, punctuated by rhythmic clops from the corridor. We have few seconds.

Gale tightens his grip on my hand, probably painfully so, but I hardly feel it. He must be thinking exactly what I do, that Haymitch is talking about our fathers.

He offers us a grimace that could pass for apologetic."What I mean is," ha says, louder, leaning back, "build up on what you already know. And make sure to brush up on those survival skills."

"And make sure to be on time!" Effie chimes in. "C'mon, c'mon, training awaits!"

I stand up, dazed, my mind working in overdrive. Gale jumps to my side, touching the small of my back, but still glaring over his shoulder at Haymitch.

Our mentor lifts his empty glass to us in a slightly mocking gesture. "Just one more thing: no showing off your best skills yet. Save your legacy for the Gamemakers. And for the real show."

I'm at loss for words, and suspect Gale gives him the finger behind my back.

"We sure as hell gotta get out of here," he whispers into my ear as we follow Effie, "and beat him up and make him tell us everything he knows."

The idea doesn't sound half bad, but I just snort mirthlessly. "Yeah, right."

My mind is swirling with confusion and aimless anger, but somewhere in the middle is a grain of reassurance. Our fathers have prepared us indeed. Just in case? To survive without them, because they suspected their time will be short? Or for something like this? I would never know. But they must have realized they'd thrust us into a world where fighting to live will be necessary. They gave us their best, and everything life in Panem threw at us after they've been taken away has shaped and forged us into who we are now.

Perhaps not up to kill and to impress the way the Careers do, but fit to survive and ready to defy.


End file.
